


Kindred Spirits

by Limonesnake



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 65,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limonesnake/pseuds/Limonesnake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mages like Quintus turned to blood magic for the sake of their love. They turned to blood magic because they cannot bear the guilt and the sadness that comes with parting. It is at this point that the emotion loses all semblance of its original state and is instead regressed into its more banal form, selfishness."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Salutations and welcome to Kindred Spirits. Kindred Spirits is an edited edition of a role-play between Limonesnake and myself on a yaoi role-play forum called Elysium. We started this role-play and have since fallen in love with it. We decided that we would bring it here to for fans to read without necessarily having to pick between the posts on the forum to follow the progress.
> 
> Before you begin reading, there are a few pointers you should be aware of.  
> \- The story is set within a limited timeframe of three years instead of seven. In order for the role-play to progress healthily without drawing it out or skipping too often, we both agreed this was the best decision to take. Had we done everything that was written in the guide, it would have practically turned into a walkthrough. So for your viewing pleasure as well as ours, imagine the entirety of the Champion's journey solidified within a smaller time frame.
> 
> \- Events linked to Acts are mixed and matched at random. Why is this you ask? Because we felt some events needed more time to process with a heavier effect, which events you will find out on your own. Nothing is skipped however and every aspect is explored, just that it isn't constructed to the canon's storyline or timeline.
> 
> \- The story is told from both MHawke's and Fenris' POV (Point of view). Each character will have turns of action which will be separated by a line division.
> 
> Other than those two hints to help you understand the story better, we hope you enjoy reading this role-play as much as we enjoyed constructing it. If you don't like guy on guy, you might as well stop reading here.
> 
> Custom Garrett Hawke played by: Limonesnake  
> Fenris played by: Aaerowyn  
> Other Characters were shared between the writers for this story.  
> Limonesnake's FF account - ~limonesnake  
> Elysium Yaoi Roleplay Forum (18+ only)
> 
> Disclaimer - Character(s) used within the story belong and are property of Bioware.

**Kirkwall**

****

 

> Kirkwall, The City of Chains, or at least it used to be. Once the forefront of quarries for the Tevinter Imperium, the city is now declared a 'free-state'. But even to vagabonds and fresh arrivals, once you step foot beyond those gates you quickly realise the city isn't as free as they make you believe. Bronze statues of slaves quivering in fear are the first thing you see upon arrival in Kirkwall from the sea, their faces hidden in shame behind brass cuffs. The Gallows, looming ahead in the distance like a gargoyle is enough to make anyone give second thought upon their choice of destination, the black and white tiers of the city staining the cliffs like a cancerous growth. Everything about the city smells of oppression from the decrepit alienage to the tallest balcony of Hightown, the buildings and architecture reminiscent to the days of old.
> 
> _The people of the city are a presumptuous lot, the templars serving under Knight-Commander Meredith a force that even the city guard cannot hope to compete with. With a large stake in street crime, robberies and murders, one can quickly gather that the City of Chains isn't the safest place to live, nor the most respected. With a mixture of templars, apostate blood mages running loose and the slave trade still operating behind closed doors, many of its people have simply given up, the dark circles in their eyes evident in passing. Only the highest and most respected positions are given authority to live a healthy life, the nobles of Hightown all but immune to the struggles that lay at their feet. Kirkwall is in a state of constant disorder and with the influx of Fereldan refugees, many of its citizens have been left to squander and fight for their place in the lower reaches._
> 
> _..._
> 
> * * *
> 
>  

It was here among the masses of confused and fearful refugees that the former slave felt he could blend in. His journey to the south had been a tedious and strenuous path carved in blood, his sword and blind instinct the only thing the wolf could rely on. During daylight hours he stayed indoors. It was not because he was shy of crowds but because his stark white hair and lyrium markings made him a target for curious wandering eyes. It was dangerous territory he would not throw himself willingly into, not while he had a wolf at his back that had a pack that outnumbered him ten to one. Danarius had sent wave after wave of hunters at the elf, their bodies toppling at his feet with each clash in a blood bath. But for every one that was felled, two more would take their place until it left the elf with only one option; to run.

And so he retreat, his instinct guiding him to wander out only at late hours of the evening. There he had met Anso, a dwarf that seemed sympathetic to his cause. He too was new to Kirkwall, his nervous disposition making him easily chatty. Fenris knew the hunters had followed him to the city, the elf wondering just how they managed to find him every single time he found a moment of reprieve. No matter where he went they were right on his heels waiting to strike, like the pack of wolves they were. They were also cowardly, never willing to face the Tevinter slave in one on one combat; not that Fenris expected slavers to have any semblance of honor. It was a few days later that Fenris had learnt of a package in a Lowtown house guarded by Sharps thugs. After finding a few records of shipping details the fugitive had learnt that the parcel was tied to his past; insufferably convenient for his circumstances.

The hunters had wanted to lure him with the bait of an important package and having no one else to rely on, Fenris sought the help of the dwarven merchant. Anso agreed to help by hiring sellswords and smugglers to retrieve the package on Fenris's behalf, the dwarf acting as the contractor on the elf's behalf. Thankfully, Anso had chosen wisely and the deal was made three nights later. The slavers had ran ahead only to be confronted by an armed group, not a lone slave and in their confusion, their masses were culled.

Of all people to be hired, the Tevinter slave had not expected to find such a personality. Hawke, or so he called himself was a man who had spent little over a year in Kirkwall with the aid of his brother to help get his family back on their feet. At the time he did not know of the man's alignment with magic and had apologized for bringing him into his personal mess. Searching the bodies of the fallen slavers had proven Fenris' suspicions correct; Danarius was residing within Kirkwall and had orchestrated the attack. The elf requested for Hawke's help once again, pleading to the man that he could not do this alone. Hawke had agreed to come along after being convinced it was for the greater good and the party had made way for Hightown the very same evening to stop Danarius before he could leave the city.

After a bloody night filled with slaying abominations and demons, Fenris had felt betrayed. He had gone from running away from the clutches of a mage only to find himself in their company once more. However, despite his distaste, he had offered his services to Hawke who willingly accepted his aid. Fenris felt that he needed to honor Hawke in paying off the debt he owed. After all, the man had done more for him out of understanding more than hired thugs would do for coin. It was a rare thing to find; a person who would aid others willingly. Fenris knew that he would not pass it up, even if it meant keeping an eye on Hawke at all times. He was still suspicious even after vowing to keep his distance from him and his mage companions but it still unsettled the warrior to know that he was willingly letting himself be lead on by yet another mage, and one that was fairly skilled.

Weeks had passed and little had changed. The mansion was still in disarray; rotting corpses slumped in the corners, broken chairs and furniture scattered across the floor. The cellar provided the abundance of entertainment for the elf who helped himself to the expensive selection every night, drinking down his pain and resentment one gulp at a time. Tonight was like any other, the elf pacing back and forth in front of the fire in slow steps with bottle in hand. The metal claws of his gauntlets chinked against the glass every moment he went to retrieve it, the bitter sweet liquid one of the few pleasures he admitted in possessing _._

He had almost finished the bottle before he heard the front door of the mansion opening. He kept it unlocked for good measure, knowing that Danarius or his faithful followers could waltz in at any moment. But if they did then the warrior would be ready to strike. The aura of magic was palpable; he could feel the energy resonating across his tattoos in itching flicks of light as the source drew nearer. Since his escape from the Imperium Fenris had learnt to control his tattoos more effectively, training their skills and abilities. One of which was to feel a mage's presence, allowing him to seek out magic users with ease and to detect foul energies that other beings would overlook. This one however wasn't the usual malicious aura he usually tasted in battle. Instead it was familiar, not exactly comfortable but enough for the elf to let his guard down. 'Hawke', Fenris thought as he turned to face away from the fireplace, tossing the bottle of wine against the wall in a loud shatter. What mission did he have planned for him this time?

* * *

 

The hollow jingle of too little gold and too many lint in his pockets provided him company as he dragged himself up the damnable stairs of Hightown. The day had been everything but mundane, what with Isabela dragging him off to another of her jaunty ventures. It'll be safe, she said. A simple pick-up job, she swore. It probably should have been; but with Hawke thrown into the equation; it'd been anything but. And all for another IOU. He had a whole chestful of them by now, and he could swear he had one from the blessed Andraste herself. How that came to happen eludes him.

It was enough to say that Hawke's adventures for the day ended when he ran out of mana... and patience. They trooped back to Varric's suite for a much needed respite but one of Darktown's urchins showed up with a note for Messere Hawke. Before the dark glower on the mage's face could turn into a spell Varric came to the rescue. The dwarf took the missive for himself and shooed Hawke away with a large bottle of the Hanged Man's swill.

So there he was, in his civvies, still a bit scorched from his most recent scuffle; trekking his way up to a certain elf's humble abode. Isabela's grin was all but innocent when Hawke said he was going to the Chantry to check on Sebastian. Yeah, right...Chantry, my ass.

"You're after some of that munchy elf bits, Hawke?" the pirate had asked in her 'innocent' voice. This was Isabela however, and innocence never did sit well with her.

"Elf bits? Do you eat elves Hawke? Please don't eat me, I'm much too thin and my blood magic makes me taste funny." Merrill piped up from her corner. The tiny mage had gone with them earlier and was now guzzling tankard after tankard of whatever Isabela was feeding her.

"You don't have to worry love. Hawke only eats dark and broody elves dipped in more broodiness." was Isabela's laughing quip as the elven mage stared at Hawke with large wary eyes.

"Ooh, is this another dirty joke then? Is Hawke flirting with Fenris?" the blood mage continued, much to Hawke's chagrin.

"I flirt with everyone Merrill," he answered shortly, with a smirk to rival Isabela's. And to prove his point he'd even gone as far as to plant a light kiss on the inebriated elf's cheek. "It's in my nature."

"But you don't flirt with me the way you flirt with Fenris," she continued, ignoring Hawke outright. "With Fenris, you look as though you'd rather die than flirt. But you do it anyway."

"That doesn't really make much sense Merrill. Are you sure you're okay to go home later?" Truly, he questioned the blood mage's sanity right about now.

"What Daisy means is that you're not yourself in front of Broody. The elf makes you feel out of place. And let's face it, though you'd probably be laughing as you face an ogre down, I doubt you'd be able to throw yourself in Broody's arms with as much gusto."

The moment Varric interrupted Merrill's drunken ramblings with his own wizened version Hawke knew he had to leave. Much as he'd like to argue about it, he knew he'd actually choose getting decimated by an ogre over throwing his lot in with Fenris. That was how much he was bothered by the escaped slave and he didn't need a Tethras to point that out.

And so he dawdled on top of the stairs, bottle in hand. He could actually really go to the Chantry and drag Sebastian down to the Hanged Man as he said he would. Or... he can just walk right into Danarius' abandoned mansion where he knew a certain elf was squatting. Too late, the wooden door creaked open at the slightest touch; and Hawke knew Fenris was on to him. The sound of breaking glass was his welcome as he climbed the last flight of stairs between him and the elf.

"Renovation not going as well as you planned? I can still see a few unpainted spots on your walls. Lovely color, by the way. It suits your eyes prettily." Right, should have borrowed his mabari's muzzle before he walked in. "I meant the walls, they look pretty."

Damn you Varric Tethras!

Fenris was giving him that look again, the one that always shows up whenever he thinks Hawke was acting crazy. And maybe the mage really was going crazy.

"Anywaaaayyy... You free tomorrow? We're going to a mine outside of Kirkwall, same old same old. Though, I could sure use your big sword."

'Why must you put your foot in your mouth, Garrett?! You're not Carver, so clean your shit up, ASAP!' It was a mystery how he managed to keep his feet rooted to the spot and his face pale as it always is. Hawke wouldn't be surprised if Fenris suddenly rushed at him with his sword, the mage had it coming. And had he been the type to carry a staff, he'd have probably stabbed himself with it. Anything to end his pain.

"So... wanna drink?"

* * *

 

The elf had ceased his somewhat restless pacing to come sit in one of the chairs he had pulled up to the fire, his gaze flicking to Hawke upon the mention of 'pretty eyes' and giving the mage a rather indifferent eyebrow raise. Maker knew that he had been drinking at the Hanged Man again; the stench of cheap ale and dirt a tell-tale sign. Varric had invited Fenris many times to accompany them on their drinking nights and sometimes the elf would agree to be pulled along. Gambling wasn't exactly his strong point though he did do noticeably better in diamond-back than wicked grace. He had hoped given enough time and patience he'd finally be able to beat the pirate, Isabela always reverting back to cheating when the game got too risky. The drink wasn't exactly something he indulged in either, but if he had had a rather hard day then he would pay. The wolf would simply need to buy more of it to get the job done.

Though, I could sure use your big sword. Fenris had to clear his throat at that one, his hips shifting side to side upon the cushion as he eyed Hawke with a distinct curiosity, one of the corners of the elf's mouth giving off just a tiny smirk of amusement. It seemed the human had consumed more alcohol than previously thought but it was rather a sight to see the usually quick-witted Hawke insert his feet into his own mouth. Fenris could hold his own alcohol well, the elf having consumed two bottles already this night and only having a slight case of the dizzies. The prospect of one more wouldn't hurt and so the elf turned in his chair to face the mage; a sign of invitation to come in and sit down.

"I heard about what happened with Isabela today. Did you manage to find those crates?" The elf questioned as he made notion towards Hawke's face; a way of saying 'what happened to you' without being formal or obvious. The man was covered in scratches, bruises and muck; the dark rings under his eyes a strong sign of energy and mana depletion. The mage looked like a wreck and so sharing a drink with him when he clearly needed one was something the Tevinter slave was more than willing to oblige.

"If you have need of me, then I will go." Fenris was behoved to accept Hawke's requests whether he liked them or not. After all, he was still in debt and would have to pay back what was due with blood, sweat or otherwise. He would go with Hawke anywhere, even to that damned fish guttery if he needed him. Maker knew how much he hated that place. Fenris had already travelled with Hawke and his company to many locations, some more questionable than others. Already they had taken out the Sharps gang, the thugs responsible for working with the Tevinter slavers. They had been disbanded after their leader was taken out in a hovel in Lowtown, the next target being the slavers in the lower reaches of the city. They were still fishing out the culprits, some having willingly attacked the group on sight once they had spotted the fugitive elf.

Hawke and his entourage were an assorted group of misfits, or merry band of misfits as Hawke himself would call them; accumulations of different people all working together for a common goal. Hawke had claimed himself not the leader but it was obvious everyone respected and listened to him. They worked fervently in battle, their assorted talents and skills able to match even the most organised ambush. More than often Fenris found himself at Hawke's side, keeping any would be attackers at bay so the mage could focus his magic without needing to worry about a dagger falling between his shoulders. It was an odd combination to say the least. His memories of Danarius had always proven him to work as an individual in the magister's company, preferring to showcase Fenris' skills as a means to impress and intimidate. To work in a group that wasn't all mercenaries and sellswords was refreshing but it also made him cautious. Working side by side with not just one but three apostates wasn't exactly how Fenris had planned his journey to the south.

The elf leaned forward to grasp a whetstone from off the floor near his feet, tossing the object back toward his bed which landed with a heavy thump upon the sheets. "One was a prying thief." Fenris commented with a light shrug of his shoulders in regard to one of the corpses Hawke had remarked about. He often left the mage's comments unanswered, not sure how to respond about the decaying corpses he left spread out through the manor's damaged interior. The warrior wasn't very good with jokes, not like the mage and so simply let the other male do the talking for him most of the time. He waited for Hawke to finish uncorking the bottle and taking his own swig before he grasped the bottle and swung it between his lips to let the foul liquid slip down his throat in a burning path. It did feel good to indulge in the small things, especially with Hawke as company.

* * *

 

He grabbed his usual seat in silence, though he continued to berate himself internally. Fenris looked as though he was in a good mood, most likely because of the newly added wet spot on the walls. The elf was a tiny bit less broody once he had alcohol inside him which might be why he said nothing about Hawke's awfully awkward greetings. Right, that's one of the reasons why Hawke enjoyed the escaped slave's company so much.

"Oh yes, Isabela's crates! She did mention those when she asked me to help her. I saw some crates, and ten times the amount of smugglers," Hawke couldn't quite keep the snap out of his voice, Fenris had no idea just how trying the day had been. If it hadn't been for that smuggled lyrium, he and his friends would have been dead on the wharf. "I'm sure Varric will talk your ears off tomorrow about it. Though I should probably let him rest... he did save me from another errand just now." His voice dropped to a mutter as he weighed his options. Both Varric and Isabela had gone with him earlier and he didn't want to overtax either. Merrill was off the list certainly, Hawke never did ask the Dalish elf along unless Varric prompted him. So that meant he'd have to bring Sebastian instead. But he felt something awful about the Bone Pit barring its name and reputation. He wouldn't be surprised if they ran into something deadly, and Hawke wanted Varric around for whatever it may be.

"We'll set out in the afternoon, keep the morning free to let Varric rest. I do have a few missives that needs to be checked out anyway," Which meant that as soon as he gets back to Gamlen's house, he'd be neck deep in notes and letters before he leaves to gather information in the morning. It will also mean that the most sleep he'll get is when he's dead, but a few sleepless nights was a tiny sacrifice compared to what he could do for Leandra. He took lyrium when he gets tired, the floor around Gamlen's desk would attest to that.

The bottle changed hands and he took another mouthful, grimacing at the taste; he could swear it smelled like piss, and would have believed it was made from piss had Varric not handed it to him personally. It was nothing in comparison to the wine Fenris had in the basement, but sometimes rough and cheap was better than rich and smooth. Who was he kidding? He'd pick Fenris' wine over this swill anytime.

Chuckling at his own thoughts, Hawke rolled his shoulders back and eased the tension out of them. He could feel the elf's eyes on him, wary most likely considering that Hawke was a mage despite his abhorrence for gowns and a staff. The Fereldan was dressed unlike any apostate; he looked nothing like a mage in pants and a shirt. The absence of a staff also hid him from the templars. The staff was a dead giveaway and though it throws his aim off; it wouldn't matter because he used area spells more often than not. It was something that made Anders roll his eyes every time Hawke incinerated a room with glee.

He enjoyed the silence for a few minutes, eyes roving around the sparse room. What rich furniture this place once had were probably kindling by now, Fenris did a thorough job with the place when he moved in and a rather large disturbance amongst the neighbours from what Aveline had told him. But the elf was good company, rarely intrusive and he had his own way of silently allowing Hawke to blow off some steam. It could also mean that warrior cared little for Hawke's grievances, but the mage wanted to believe he knew Fenris better than that. Fenris treat him better than his own brother, and that's with the elf swearing his hate for mages and magic. It was funny, in a sad way.

The bottle was near empty, and he had a nice buzz going. He knew he had a lot of stuff to do once he gets home and that he really should be leaving. But Fenris hadn't shooed him off just yet.

"I never did manage to give you your share for the job last week," and took out a small cloth purse from his pockets to hold out for Fenris to take: two gold and twenty silvers in total. His expression was set as he waited for Fenris to take the purse, prepared to face down any arguments his companion might have for him. Fenris did say he'll work off his debt, but Hawke considered it paid in full the first job the elf took with them. The ex-slave was a better swordhand than either Carver or Aveline, and had Hawke allowed himself; the elf would be on each and every job he went on. But though the mage considered Fenris as a friend, the elf was merely tolerant of his presence. Every time Fenris and Anders argued about mages and magic, he couldn't help but feel the barbs of the elf's words as well.

* * *

 

Fenris listened patiently as the licks of the fireplace lazily went about devouring a fresh set of tinder, the light hazily sweeping the room in random bursts. He knew that Isabela was one to dig herself into her own grave quite frequently and often tailed Hawke as a measure of 'better safe than sorry'. More often than not, the mage and his company had to pay for the rogue's bad judgement, either that or simply handled the situation presented to them because she knew she could count on them. Aveline protested openly about the pirate's selfish choices, their arguments rather disconcerting but also amusing. Despite how much the two bashed skulls neither one of them had taken the matter to the point of a duel or a fight.

"I'm not surprised." The warrior commented as he took another swig of the vile liquid before handing the bottle back over to Hawke, allowing the mage to clean the rest out. "You allow her to place herself in danger at your behest. Why you continue to let her drag you along I will never know." Fenris had taken a small liking to Isabela after learning of her dealings with freeing would-be slaves. The former captain had made it obvious about her interest in him, commenting about how Tevinter slaves were oiled and often bantering with the elf in small guessing games about the colour of his small clothes. It was flattering but it wasn't the type of attention he would willingly throw himself into, not without reason of course. He had overheard Anders speaking to the woman about salves he would give in order to clear whatever ungodly infection had spread. It was enough for his mind to wander to sordid places indeed.

The elf shifted once more in his chair, lanky legs fanning out in a light stretch. It always seemed he was unable to keep still for any certain amount of time. In public the warrior would constantly shift back and forth between his feet, his head spinning around to glance over his shoulder at every dark alleyway or corner they passed, fingers twitching with agitation. The sudden sound of coin brought him out of his thoughts, his brow darkening in an unimpressed manner. He should have known better than to think Hawke would allow him to work off his debt without interference. Despite his jester attitude and snarky remarks, the man undeniably had a charitable heart. Fenris also knew Hawke was a stubborn man, much like himself and wouldn't budge unless the elf accepted his offer.

"You do not have to feed me coin, Hawke." The elf said with a grimace, his eyes rolling at the offered coinpurse. Typical, he thought to himself as he begrudgingly reached out and palmed the sack into his fingers. The currency chinked as the elf didn't bother to even open the offering, preferring to toss it over his shoulder much like the whetstone for it to land onto his bed. "I only accepted it because I know I won't hear the end of it if I said otherwise. Does that make you happy, mage?" His tone had lowered enough to make the word mage seem dirty as it slipped out from between his lips. Hawke knew that the elf was not accustomed to gifts or even kindness at that. Taking coin from the man would only feel like he was digging himself further and further into debt but he did not want to cause any argument when he was aware both parties had endured a rather hard day. The alcohol would make him less conflicted with people, able to revert from snapping back when usually he would be more than willing to put up a fight over who owed who.

"I spoke to Anso recently." The elf perked as he turned his attention back to the flames, the sparks and smouldering ashes rather mesmerizing under a drunken gaze. "He said there was a mine outside of the city that was apparently cursed." Fenris left the comment hanging in the air as his gaze shifted back to Hawke, taking the man in. He was rather handsome for a human. A well shaped jaw, broad shoulders, thick hair and inviting grey eyes; enough for the elf to admire quietly. He never carried himself like the magisters did, preferring to walk with a strong gait, like the Fereldan didn't care what people thought about him, juxtaposed to the dress-wearing prudes of the Imperium who took too much care to such inane details.

* * *

 

"Unless it's proven that Tevinter elves can live on wine as well as sweat and bleed it, you'll receive your cut from each job you're on," the remark came out rather testily, Hawke's gaze pointedly daring Fenris. When the elf deigned him none, he released the breath he didn't know he was holding in. It always placed him on edge, whenever Fenris called him a mage. The elf had a way of making it sound like he was an abomination waiting to happen. He rarely rose to the bait, but his patience was on a short leash after the earlier fiasco.

He ran his fingers through his own raven hair, cringing when his hand came away with more soot and dirt than before. He probably should stop setting things on fire indoors; Maker knows whose charred remains were caught in his hair now. His hands left a smudge against his pants, only to be lost amongst the dirt already clinging to the material. He knew he looked as though he'd been crawling through the sewer, but he need not tell Fenris that much detail.

At the sound of Anso's name, a smile curled around Hawke's lips. He'd seen the dwarf once or twice after he met Fenris. The poor sod was still as jumpy as ever, eyes carefully trained on the ground as the sight of too much sky made him feel like falling. What he didn't know was that Fenris was still keeping contact and from the sound of it, the elf kept a correspondence.

"He probably meant the same one. I only know of one haunted mine and it's the one owned by that Orlesian, Hubris or Hubert; whichever." he answered. He'd met the man yesterday after receiving a letter from him. The Orlesian accent was hard enough to anyone who was paying attention, it was even harder to decipher if one was listening half-heartedly; as Hawke was. In the end, he had Hubert mark the mine on a map and had somehow understood that he'd been hired to clean out whatever boogieman was terrorizing the workers. Since they were dealing with caves, Hawke was more than ready to bet his gold on spiders, giant ones that spit and bite. But of course, there was no way such things can be as simple as they say it is. This is what made him turn to Fenris in the first place. 'Bring out the muscles', as they say.

"He mentioned monsters though he didn't specify which kind. I tried looking for the workers, gather information." He frowned at the memory and shrugged to convey how useless his efforts were. The workers were either too scared or too drunk to talk about the mine coherently, seems like the only ones who saw the thing proper were either dead or missing. One man said he saw the biggest spider, like thirty feet tall. Another saw darkspawn while one dwarf swore he saw schleets... whatever those may be.

"I might try again tomorrow since I do have a few things to do by the docks. Though, did Anso mention anything about the mine? The other dwarves may have said something to him that they've 'forgotten' to tell me," he added wistfully. The bottle was empty by then and he was doing the best he could to extend his time with the elf by using small talk. They both knew that whatever information Anso had would make no difference, they'd still be marching into that mine even if they'd be facing an Archdemon. Well, maybe not an Archdemon.

But Hawke had given his word and there was nothing anyone can do to dissuade him from completing the job. Varric knew as much, which is why Hawke suspected his mail goes through the dwarf first. It wouldn't surprise him to find out that the archer had been censoring his mail, removing certain death missives from the pile before delivering the rest to Gamlen's house. It would explain why all his mail came in piles.

A glance at the elf's profile brought to his attention the way Fenris' lyrium tattoos glimmered under firelight. He'd seen it before, usually when they were camping out on the Wounded Coast, but he'd never seen it this way, this close. The lines in the shadow were almost invisible but the rest were thrown in contrast against the elf's darker skin. And the way the fire lit through his hair, almost turning it gold.

Hawke quickly turned his head away, wary of being caught and chastised for staring. Usually, he'd stare unabashed; ready to defend himself with a well-placed compliment. But he'd be merely flattering, which would be lying; something he couldn't do properly in front of the fugitive. So he stared at the rotting bodies in the corner of the room, wondering how Fenris could stand the sight of it.

* * *

 

"Perhaps." The elf commented in regard to Hawke mentioning the mine. There were many mines littering Kirkwall's outskirts, some of which continued to work as base of operation for slavers, outcasts or the criminally insane. Monsters were always a promise when it came to travel and were delivered in all forms, not always as beasts as they were made out to be. Fenris had hoped that the mine contained some blood mages. It always thrilled the warrior to end any mage, demon or abomination's life, like he was enacting his own personal vengeance. But common sense told him he would only be facing the usual; spiders, thugs, perhaps the occasional restless spirit. Still, to be able to have the opportunity to flush out any apostate filth was gratifying.

He watched Hawke curiously as he noticed the man turn his head away, like he had been caught doing something wrong or staring too long. Fenris wasn't oblivious to the mage's strange behavior and simply passed it off on the alcohol. After all, downing the swill from the Hanging Man one way or another was bound to have a man shaken out of his senses. Still, it was flattering. The elf could appreciate being admired and not in a way that didn't make him feel violated or belittled. Despite Hawke being a mage, it was nice having his personal attention. He shifted again in his seat, his muscular legs and back rarely finding peace among the luxurious cushions when he was still used to sleeping on hard surfaces. Sometimes he would crawl to sleep on the floor near the bed rather than on it, the sense of familiarity overcoming discomfort.

"Anso didn't mention anything about the mine except that the people feared going there." Fenris turned one of his hands until his palm faced the light of the fire, his green eyes glancing at the markings sprawling under his gauntlets like ghostly trails. The elf had a unique way of communicating, often letting his hands doing the talking during conversation and more so during heated debates. His body language was rather intimidating, accentuating the venom he spat and his opinion on the matter at hand. "I will let you get your rest. We can continue to drink on another night perhaps." The elf pulled his attention away from himself to come and stand, a gesture that usually spoke 'get out' in a humble and quiet way. "I will meet you at the city gates tomorrow." Fenris did not need to escort Hawke out. The mage wasn't drunk enough and he usually avoided getting too close in fear his markings would spring to life. He wasn't averted to physical contact, moreso afraid of having someone touching the lyrium. They had only sparked anger, resentment and pain but Hawke seemed different. Perhaps with him it might not be so bad but for the now, the fugitive had only the slavers to focus and worry about.

* * *

 

His visit was obviously over as soon as Fenris got to his feet. He'd grown to recognize whenever the elf had had enough of Hawke's intrusion. He'd been tolerant this time, only because the mage actually had a valid reason for dropping by. But any reason such as drinking or 'just chatting' will guarantee his immediate expulsion from the mansion _._

"Til tomorrow afternoon, then and I'll make sure to bring extra potions this time." Since you don't like magic healing you... left unsaid. All the mages in Hawke's company knew of the elf's aversion; and though Anders and Merrill often argued with the wolf, they knew to respect their boundaries. This means that Hawke had to bring more healing pots than usual. The one time they ran out, Fenris had nearly bitten Anders's hand off when the other tried to heal a wound on his leg. The apostate had been so affronted that he swore never to waste any mana on the warrior unless his guts were literally spilling out and Hawke being a purely offensive, had nothing close to Anders's repertoire of healing skills.

The streets were dark as he made his way to Gamlens. The sounds of laughter and glass filtered over the silence from the Rose as he took to the streets. Hightown was no safer than Lowtown, but they've done a good job mopping up the gangs that littered the place. Though he was alone, no-one would make the mistake of accosting the mage. A strolling guard recognized him and nodded at his passing.

The house was silent save for Gamlen and Carver's competing snores. His mabari, Siruis, raised his head in greeting and padded over to paw at Hawke's pants before curling back to sleep besides the desk. Hawke merely smiled as he sat himself down on Gamlen's rickety chair. It seems like a few letters more had made their way into the already existing file. Resigning himself to another sleepless night, Hawke started opening letter after letter.


	2. The Bone Pit Affair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another long-ass chapter from us.  
> We were indulging ourselves when we were writing the RP, posting at least 1000 words per reply.  
> So look forward to 300,000+ words of HawkexFenris fluff and smut.

True enough, Hawke was only able to catch at most three hours' worth of sleep before Carver woke him up with his ungodly noise. His mother had been kind enough to save enough water for Garrett to bath sparingly. He slipped into clothes he won't miss if they get torn or burned and topped his ensemble with one of his father's better cloaks. The material fell just below his knees and though the exterior was dark and unremarkable; the inside was threaded with runes and spells.

He spent the morning walking from contact to contact, nurturing his dislike for stairs into hate. He did manage to add a few more gold into his expedition coffer, one that he kept in Varric's suite in fear of both Carver and Gamlen dipping into the stash. Not that Carver was that bad, but the boy seemed to do everything he could to spite his older brother.

The dwarf was not in his room when Hawke dropped by but Isabela was in the bar when the mage walked in. He asked the pirate to forward the job details to Varric before heading off again to Darktown.

The bath he took this morning seemed like wasted effort once he was down the stairs and idling through the tunnels. Dirt and soot clung to him like a second skin and by the time he got to Anders' clinic, Hawke was itching for his 2nd bath of the day.

The blonde mage was thankfully free and willing to accompany Hawke in his latest venture. He was even more inclined once he heard where they were going. His clinic had no lack of patients after the mage had run into one of the shell-shocked miners. The man's gibberish merely incited his curiosity, as well as the fact that there was a known elfroot site on the way to the mine.

They parted and Hawke returned to Gamlen's to rest his feet somewhat. Anders was kind enough to brew him a footsoak, and the raven took full advantage of what little time he had left before they departed.

* * *

 

The sun shone brightly in the sky, a sign of prosperity even to the backwater of a city. It would have been a welcome sign if he could have been able to discern it clearly. Dark looming clouds rushed overhead, the wind cutting across the skin in violent dry chills. Grass laid dead everywhere, soil barren and dry like it had not rained here in years. It was evident the place was cursed, the foul wicked restless energies swirling around them like faint whispers through time. Fenris had felt their pleas, their madness and suffering the closer they neared the mine they had called 'The Bone Pit'. The title was fitting considering the elf had accidentally trod on rotting bones on more than one occasion during the ascent, one in particular being the skull of a child. His lyrium markings sparked in subtle warning, the dark energy of the place enough to push the warrior to the edge of unease. "This place is cursed. Only fools would think of working here." He had warned in a low tone, the party steadily working its way around a sharp bend that took too close to the edge of the cliff.

It felt like a howl, a horrid noise that sounded as if the earth itself was screaming in agony. The source of which was a large open mouth of rock, a dark tunnel leading down into the depths below. The outside of the mine was littered in corpses, some charred, others dismembered. Carts and mining materials were left scattered in every direction; whatever had happened here had spread fear like a vicious plague. No survivors, no sign of the living. The only thing to greet the gathering was that damned howling cave with an ominous mouth. Fenris already felt his fingers itch, sword arm a little jumpy; ready in case anything decided to jump out of the shadows and show its ugly face. Hawke had really taken the prize with this one. A haunted howling cave out in the middle of nowhere to scavenge maker knows what.

_"Are those-" Varric's question never did finish as a large fireball erupted on top of the gathered dragonlings. With a shrill screech, the younglings scurried towards Hawke and his party, their steely short claws bared to flay the skin off their limbs._

"Varric, stop gawping and START SHOOTING!" Hawke's harried shout shocked the dwarf into action and Bianca finally started singing. The sound of whistling bolts was enough to center Hawke's attention on their attackers. Andraste's ass on a spit, as if spiders weren't enough; now they've got dragonlings nibbling at them too!

He spotted Fenris' glowing form phasing from creature to creature as the warrior finished off the ones Anders had already frozen. Hawke threw in his own spell at the lizards crowding near the back of the lot. He was careful with his area spells especially if someone were in the thick of the crowd. One wrong spell and he might accidentally set his friends on fire instead of the monsters.

Anders was casting grasp after grasp and with most dragonlings cooling off, the rest were able to finish off the remaining stragglers.

"I'm never accepting a job from any Orlesian... ever!" was Hawke's panting declaration once the last of the giant lizards shattered with a blow from Fenris' sword. How can anyone mistake dragonlings for spiders was a mystery to Hawke, unless of course everyone he talked to was playing with him.

"Now Hawke, don't be hasty. Those stuck up bastards pay better than anyone from Kirkwall do." was Varric's quick answer as the group continued on their way. The mage merely grunted in answer, though he was throwing side glances in the elf's direction. So far so good, other than minute scratches Fenris did not look like he'll need healing any time soon. As soon as he'd seen the elf earlier, Hawke had made sure to hand over several healing pots. He kept a few on his own person, just in case.

Of course, there was no avoiding the glorious argument that blossomed between the Grey Warden apostate and the Tevinter fugitive. As soon as Fenris saw Anders, the elf's calm composure turned into a sneer, baiting words targeted at the 'abomination'. Hawke was merely bystander casualty. They toned it down when Hawke literally separated them, but that started a shouting match instead; one that drew the dragonling's attention to them.

Hawke though, couldn't avoid looking at the silver lining; at least Anders hadn't 'accidentally' glyphed Fenris instead. The last time he did so, he'd nearly earned a lop to his neck. It seemed like no amount of repulsive energy was able to dissuade the elf from taking Anders's head in revenge. It took both Hawke and Aveline to hold the two back from killing each other.

"I've never had dragon meat before," the mage pointed out as he went up a short flight of stairs leading to a tunnel.

"Neither have I, but you don't see me rushing for any, do you? And besides, I heard it's the heart that you'd want most. And the balls, dragon balls in stew is rare delicacy for curing a man's libido they say," Varric bantered light-heartedly.

"Lies, there's nothing special to be found in a dragon save for the horn, and even that is questionable. Anyway, from what I've heard from some of my patients from the Rose, you've no need of any stew... Hawke." Anders added with a grin.

"Let's save this discussion for when Isabela's around," the mage answered with a laugh. It was true he'd been a frequent patron at Madam Lusine's establishment in the year he'd spent in Kirkwall. But he hadn't been near the rose since he broke it off with Athenril's lot. "And besides, it looks like we've found our first survivor. How's it hanging, my good man?"

The man, most likely a miner, merely stared at Hawke as though the mage had gone crazy. Finally, they got the whole story despite Jansen's slow start. And after they've sent him off, Hawke and company continued out to where the 'huge dragon' apparently was.

* * *

 

Of all things to expect in a mine full of seared corpses, dragonkin were the least. They were adolescent, not fully seasoned so their wings had not yet developed but that didn't stop them from being any less vicious. They had swarmed the group in teeming numbers, their sharp fangs, claws and fluid movements almost making them seem feline in nature. It also didn't help that despite being without fire they still packed a heated bite, one the elf had taken to one of his right bicep while cleaving the beast in half. The wound was small but it stung unpleasantly, like the skin itself had been branded by the dragonlings tiny fangs.

It wouldn't have been so bad if the abomination had kept his mouth shut. Anders had been selected by Hawke as company for the journey, much to Fenris' chagrin. The apostate was a rather vocal one, expressing the plight of the mages openly on every single mission they went on. Every. Single. One. Isabela had mentioned that Anders spoke for the lot in concern to the suffering of circle mages everywhere. If only the abomination truly knew what chaos such a thing would bring. Mages were like walking bombs, some with a shorter fuse than others but eventually, given enough pressure and sense of danger, would explode. Anders himself was an abomination, having taken a spirit of justice or so he called it into his body, so it didn't surprise the elf to know it was intent on defending the rights of other such foolish beings.

After the dragonlings were slain the elf went about cautiously assessing his sword. It had been with him since his escape from the Imperium and though it had proven its loyalty, the wolf knew that its endurance wasn't going to last forever. Already it had shown the signs of fatigue and no amount of grinding from a whetstone could suppress that. With the small amount of coin he had the elf doubted it would be enough to buy him a useful blade. Most of the blacksmiths in Lowtown provided casual weaponry; daggers, shivs, maybe a short sword if one were lucky to find it, nothing of any substance. Hightown merchants on the other hand sold an array of goods but were out of his budget. This would mean he would have to rely on Hawke for income until he had scrounged enough coin together. The more he became dependent upon the refugee the more it vexed him.

Trailing through the mining tunnels was no small feat either. Many paths were crumbled or were simply shut off, forcing a detour around. Others had been strung with vicious webs and the occasional trap, perhaps to deter the miners from trying to nit-pick whatever valuables were stored beneath. Every now and then they found something of value, strands of elfroot or a pocket of deep mushrooms. Eventually they heard the rushing sound of footsteps in a far off cavern and found a man named Jansen with a burnt backside. He was more than grateful to be rescued but had warned the group of a massive dragon before scurrying off toward the entrance.

The comment had left the group wary. Dragonlings were one thing but a fully grown dragon was a menacing threat. Stories of dragons burning villagers in the Dragon Age were popular banter in public taverns but most had spoken of them as if they had simply vanished. To see a living breathing dragon would be a first for many. Cautiously, they approached what looked like an opening, the bone pit fields fanning out before them still smouldering. It was a scene of death, hundreds of corpses lining the grounds in clumped piles, some still hanging from the cliffs. It seemed to be an open quarry of sorts, the occasional cart and mine rail still noticeable among the masses of black rock and scorched earth.

The moment to review their surroundings was cut short as the whirling of wind suddenly swirled around them in a vicious cycle. A shadow loomed in the skies overhead as suddenly it swooped down upon them like a giant bird of prey. Frayed wings as vast as a building spread out before them, the dragon's eyes gleaming with inner fire as its claws dug into the earth, head lightly tilted as if to eye the group down, daring them to try rise to the challenge. Any means of retreat were cut off, the dragon's throat temporarily glowing before it spat a glob of molten flame at the cave, the flames rising up around the rock in a vicious wall.

Aveline was the first to attack; her shield raised as the guardswoman launched herself forward, drawing the dragon's attention as she swung out her sword from behind the shield to clip the beast's throat. This gave the rest an opening of opportunity to re-position or to attack themselves as the dragon roared in defiance, its massive head swinging down to barge its horns against the former soldier's shield. Aveline however was a stoic woman and could put up with a beating in fights. The manoeuvre of the dragon's tossing against her raised shield was used to her advantage, her body moving to the side as the push caused her to turn around and swing back in order to jab her sword once more into the dragon, this time into the gape of its shoulder.

Fenris had positioned himself along the beast's flank, sword lowered at his side in poise to strike at any sign of vulnerability. The dwarf had already started unloading his crossbow on the giant reptile, pelting the creature's face with arrows and shrapnel that only caused its temper to shorten further. In blind rage, the beast began to raise up onto its back legs, the giant wings spreading around its back like a halo as its throat once more flickered with malicious light. It was at this moment when Fenris launched forward, his feet carrying him across the ground with a surge of speed as he raised the tip of the sword, angling it just enough for it to plummet between the beast's ribs.

The dragon roared in pain as it showered the area in flames, fire erupting around the party in solid streams. Aveline was clipped by the shower of magic, her shield not large enough to cover her entire body. She grunt in pain as she moved out of the molten path, plated legs singed with the taint of the dragon's touch, the tabard of the Kirkwall guard she wore all but crumbling to ashes around her feet. "Come on!" The fiery headed woman taunted the beast as she moved in to bash the creatures head on the edge of her shield, the dragon becoming disorientated as more crossbow bolts were fired into its neck. The strong hide on the dragon made Bianca's efforts somewhat useless, the bolts not large enough to penetrate past the thick layers of scale.

The elf drilled the sword further into the creature's ribs before withdrawing his weapon, his body rewarded in a shower of dragon's blood. The wing of the dragon came back down at its defense, knocking the fugitive away in a sweep that caused his body to roll in turns like he was nothing but a paperweight. Having the wind knocked out of his lungs Fenris struggled for breath as he steadied himself from the heavy blow, his ribs and shoulders aching. He felt blood begin to run down the corners of his mouth, each intake of air stinging against his internal organs. He fought to find one of the potions that Hawke had handed to him earlier and quickly uncorked it, drowning himself in its rather vile taste. The healing surged through his body, veins refilling with vital energy as he threw the now empty bottle away. Even if his ribs were broken then the potion would be enough to steady him for the rest of the fight.

* * *

 

"Which idiot volunteered our asses for this?" Varric's voice rang out from across the ledge. The dragon's uncanny arrival had scattered the party all over the place, save for the warriors who were now rushing in at it. Hawke had luckily landed a small way off from the heat of the battle at a safe casting distance. Anders, on the other hand was much too near and Hawke had to run in and drag the other mage to a safer spot.

"Put a straw in it, Anders!" the force mage urged as their healer scrambled for a lyrium potion. Hawke himself was casting spell after spell, eyes flitting over Aveline and Fenris. He'd switched from elementals to force spells considering that most of his attack spells were fire-based. Smashing a dragon was no easy feat though and had the dragon not go after him more than once; he'd have thought he wasn't doing any damage.

Anders on the other hand was a blessing; casting healing after heals on whoever had the worst injury. Fenris was not exempted from the healer's magic though Hawke doubted the elf would have felt the difference with the beating he and Aveline were taking. Speed buffs and even a shot of elemental weapons were thrown in the mix whenever Anders caught a breather.

And though the spellcasters were outside of the dragon's range of fire, they were not spared from injuries. More than once did Hawke find himself stumbling forward, drawn by the vacuum created from the dragon's wings beating whenever it rose a few feet into the air. Before they could catch themselves, the damnable beast would slam its large body down, blasting them back against rock and stone.

Midfight, Hawke found himself casting just about anything he could. While his other spells cooled down, he'd throw minor cold grasps and once a fireball that had Anders staring at him in disbelief. Yeah, casting fire on a dragon was comparable to stabbing yourself with a spoon; a lesson Hawke took to heart the second time he wasted mana on the stupid notion. The rest of the time he spent running round and round the small ledge, for the dragon was mighty annoyed at him for some reason. Despite Aveline's best efforts at taunting the thing, the overgrown lizard had a tendency to gravitate towards the force mage. At least it took some of the heat off the frontliners. Though considering that most of its attacks were widespread, it didn't help much.

This fight could easily claim the top spot for one of the most drawn-out battles they've ever had. And that's with five people and a dog, ganging up on the thing. At some point in time, Varric had started picking up any bolts he chanced upon. Aveline looked as though she was actually trying to wield her shield as a second sword, burying the pointy end on any open wound within hand. Fenris, cool as always, kept in pace, always positioned in the dragon's blind spot unlike Aveline who was probably attempting to wrestle the beast off the ledge... crazy woman. The battle was wearing them down though, it was obvious in the way they move. They weren't as quick as earlier, their blows were not as heavy, their reactions a tad too slow. But they were relentless, hammering away at the dragon who had nothing better to do than terrorize people trying to make a living.

Anders had emptied on mana a little earlier. Hawke, who was keeping a close eye on everyone; knew that Fenris was running on fumes, at least Aveline had more than enough grit in her to survive in the next ten minutes, which now seemed like forever considering the monster they were facing. The mage had thrown a couple bottles over, which the elf had thankfully caught; and would have handed over the rest of it when the dragon finally cried out its death throes.

The huge body slumped forward on its forelegs, wings closing in on the scaled back as the dragon finally lay still. The noise of swords against scale, explosions and the whistling thwack of bolts flying through the air gave way to an almost deafening silence as the group stared at the creature warily. Siruis snapped at the thing's snout and growled, daring it to rise from its ashes and continue the fight. Hawke almost found himself reining the dog in, unreasonably worried that the dragon might change its mind about dying.

He shook his head in disbelief and gathered his scattered wits around him. His first priority were his friends, Varric was limping towards Anders with Bianca on his back. The dwarf's hair was singed in places from where the fire caught his hair, but he didn't look that much worse for wear. The rogue was even smirking in a pissed off way that only the dwarf could pull off. While Anders used the last of his mana sparingly, merely healing the most serious of wounds; Hawke went round the lizard's body to where Aveline and Fenris were propped up against the cliff wall.

The guard captain was using her shield to steady herself, her sword lay discarded on the dusty floor. Her hair was out of its usual braid, soot and char marring her features. But Hawke could see the smile in her eyes, smug and victorious as she raised her last healing potion in a toast to their victory. The guard barracks will certainly be buzzing with talk tonight, another accomplishment added to her already long list of victories.

Hawke turned his attention from her once he'd ascertained that her innards were still in their right place and her bones were not sticking out of anywhere. She will most likely be bruised all over, scratched through and through, but she'll at least live to tell the tale. Fenris on the other hand...

The mage bit his lower lip as he ran an appraising eye over the elf; his stare was more of concern than appreciation. Unlike the other warrior who could be likened to a metal barrel, Fenris only had his chestplate and gauntlets as armor. There was little to cushion the blows he'd been dealt with and looking at him now, Hawke knew he had to put his feet down.

"Anders, guts spilling over here!" he called out over the distance. He was rewarded for his efforts by a dark dirty glare which he tried his best to meet.

The sound of approaching footsteps, both apostate and dwarf; made Hawke break the glaring contest as he stepped back to give Anders room to treat. He got a wary look from his fellow mage instead, who was still keeping his distance, a wise move on his part.

"Who needs healing?" Anders asked tiredly, though his eyes were on the elf instead of Aveline. Hawke's level stare was all the answer he got though he still made no move to go near his patient.

"Fenris, I'm sorry but if you want to get off his damn rock, you'll have to put up with Anders's magic," Hawke finally continued when neither made a move to compromise. "That or camp out here in this haunted mine or catch a ride down on the dwarf."

"Wait right there, I'm no pack horse." was Varric's muttered retort.

The rest of his healing potions were burning a hole through his pockets, but there was no way Hawke will bring those out. It was a good time as any to get Fenris and Anders in a truce, however wishful his thinking may be.

* * *

 

The battle had worn on for what felt like an eternity. Each second felt like a minute, the dragon's movements slowed with the exertion of adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Before the elf could deliver another split in the dragon's lungs the beast had lurched up, the wings cutting sharply through the air to create a vacuum of air strong enough to pull all those close enough off their feet. Fenris, despite wielding a sword just as long as he was was still just an elf and was a lot lighter than the humans and dwarf accompanying the fight. The ground vanished below his feet as he was drawn in, gauntlets desperately wrapped around the handle of his sword as the blade dragged through the earth, offering the only traction with the surge of wind. The dragon's wings then suddenly lowered, closing in on the elf and the guardswoman before they were thrown back, the air now throwing them into the wind and against the sharp outcroppings of undermined stone.

Fenris grunted heavily in a strained wheeze as he found his back pummeled against the stone, sending sharp jabs of pain running up and down his spine and ribs. The impact had knocked his broken ribs further, causing a violent spurt of blood to ooze out in a fit of coughs. He could feel the splinters digging into him like knives with each restricted breath he took, the breastplate on his chest doing little to sullen the heavy blows. But unlike Aveline who took punishment as second wind, the more injured the elf became the more determined he was to finish the fight. Feeling the anger boil through him of having being pounded around like a ball on a stick, the elf had grasped his sword and let the lyrium on his body illuminate on command.

The effect was further hastened as he spotted the dragon turning its attention upon Hawke, the mage throwing a fireball followed by a bite of frost at the dragon's cheek. It swatted out a claw, missing the human by a needle's margin before it raised its head in order to try bite the mage that continued to run in an arc around the overgrown reptile just barely out of reach. The tattoos on his body released their potent energy in a wave of bright light, the tattoos stinging against him unpleasantly as the lyrium concentrated and flowed down his body in rich veins. With Hawke being the distraction it had caused the dragon to turn its back to the elf who had decided to use the leverage as an opening.

Rushing forward with all his might, the elf pulled the massive blade from the ground, his lithe body hauling the weapon with grace as he neared the beast as it continued to turn with the mage's movements. Pulling the sword behind him, Fenris launched forward, his body stopping his momentum as he brought the sword around his flank in a controlled twist, the lyrium causing the movements to become blurred and distorted like he was but a ghostly visage on the battlefield. The blade turned, arcing through the air only to cleave right through the dragon's thigh and sending threads of dragon flesh and blood soaring into the wind.

Fenris had poured every ounce of energy he had into the movement, his blade dragging through the dragon's limb and coming out clean on the other side to leave a gaping wound in the dragon's leg; right to the very bone. Once more the dragon roared in pain, the beast lurching forward in a chaotic flail in attempt to try and knock anything it could get close to aside. Hawke's mabari had set its intent on the dragon's tail, snapping and pulling at the writhing limb as if to draw the attention away from its master. The large gash in the dragon's leg spilled a healthy amount of blood, the crimson purple liquid spilling over the ground into slippery puddles.

The elf used the cleave to pull himself out of range just in time as Hawke threw over a potion, the elf gratefully catching the potion only to uncork it and empty it immediately all the while drawing his sword across the ground, his shoulders tired and unable to lift the massive length much more. Veins' filling with sustenance once more, Fenris was grateful that the bleeding of his lungs had once again abated. The dragon now turned to face the damned dog that was on its tail, its wings spreading out to knock Aveline and Anders aside as it twisted around in a desperate attempt to try and run away. Its behaviour changed, offensive attacks now becoming more defensive in nature as it attempted to guard itself, almost like it was aware of its inevitable death.

With one last ounce of second wind the elf had picked up his sword knowing he had but one more swing before it would break, a swing he planned to use it wisely. Waiting for the dragon's head to turn and face the mabari, the elf had gripped onto the sword tightly and rushed forward once more, his lyrium tattoos now fading as his energy had all but turned to fumes. He drew the sword across the earth behind him, the battered blade cutting through soil as the wolf let out a meditative growl, his speed increasing as he drew in to the exposed neck. With all his resources placed upon the blow, the elf pulled back and high, the sword swinging up from the ground and over the elf's head before suddenly crashing down.

With a final cry, the dragon's throat was torn; the blade shattering into the dragon's flesh as it broke apart, tearing open a gaping hole in the giant's neck. It swung its head viciously in the throes of death, the elf barely having time to step back as he was knocked aside and into the stone cliffs. Crunch! Was all the wolf heard as his vision fazed to black, the world around him swirling like a maelstrom of ebony fury. The darkness looming over him threatened to deepen as he heard the hollow sounds of the dragon's death cries, the ground shaking as it fell to the earth lifelessly. He stirred, refusing to give into the shadows as the world slowly coloured before him, figures hazily making their way over.

With a forceful grunt he sat up against the stone, feeling his lungs puncture with each breath. Fresh blood leaked out the corners of his mouth as he coughed against his will, spilling even more crimson down his chest. He glanced up to suddenly find Hawke looking at him with concern, the elf responding with a dark glare. He didn't want to be looked at like that, especially by a mage. He knew he was going to be fine, he didn't need help. Broken ribs and a concussion wasn't the worst he'd had...wasn't it? "Anders, guts spilling over here!" The words were spilt out of Hawke's mouth before Fenris could stop him. "Hawke, no!" The fugitive responded in alarm, however even saying those two words had caused the elf's lungs to wheeze and pop in pain. He glowered at Hawke, knowing now that he had no choice but to rely on that abomination Anders for help.

"I'm fine." Fenris growled as he glared between the two men, crimson streams now pooling around the edge of his neck. Fenris not only was a stubborn elf but had an extremely high pain tolerance. What would normally cause any man to become crippled only fuelled the elf to push further and harder. Years of training and torture had lengthened his threshold well, but it was also something that could put the wolf in great danger if he refused to realize just how dire his injuries were. One of the metal talons of the elf's gauntlets were holding onto his side to support the aching split ribs, the bones threatening to pierce further through the line of lung tissue with each labored breath.

* * *

 

Garrett Hawke was usually a cool-headed man, if not a bit smug. He often duelled with his words more often than with his fists; complacent in the belief that there was no situation he could talk his way through. Back in Ferelden, his glib tongue and sharp wit had masked his presence even as templars carried out their witch hunts. Anyone who knew him then believed him to be a pacifist; he was always the one who broke up his younger brother's fights, always the one who kept peace in the house whenever Bethany had enough of Carver's stupidity. But darkspawn happened, and Hawke grew more accustomed with shouting out spells instead of craftily veiled insults. There was little use for sarcasm in a fight after all, despite the humor his words brought about.

So it was with little hesitation that Hawke struck the rock right beside the elf's face. His knuckles already bloody from evading the dragon's attacks were downright bleeding when they struck stone. Fenris was a good one though, his furious face never wavering even as Hawke matched his scowl. He was done playing nice, always respecting everybody else's preference. And though he understood where the elf was coming from, Hawke was not going to let Fenris die for it.

"You'd rather kill yourself than let Anders treat you?" he asked in a low voice as he all but bared his teeth at the other in a snarl. "Looks like you'll get your wish and Danarius will just have to find himself a new pet," A low blow, but worth it; especially when the elf's already paling face gained new life. Hawke knew he'll be hated for it, but he pulled himself away without another word. Anders glanced at him nervously before crowding past him, blue light already gathered at his fingertips. Hawke pulled out the last of his lyrium and slipped it to the healer whose grateful smile was more than enough to convey just how drained he was.

Even as he walked back towards the dragon's corpse, he thought he heard Anders whisper something. But Varric was calling his and Aveline's attention towards the beast's horn. They left Anders to his patient as the three gathered around the large snout, wondering how they'd be able to hack the horn off. The dwarf tried to drag him southside, but Hawke had rolled his eyes and drew the line.

"He's just angry," Anders muttered as he busied himself with resetting all of the elf's broken bones. The warrior had quite a few, seven actually; all of them open fractures with the more serious ones already slicing through the lungs. It was a wonder how Fenris had managed to keep himself together during the fight. One wrong move and half or all of his lungs would have popped like bubbles.

The lyrium potion Hawke left him soon slipped past his lips, a minty coolness that flowed from his throat to his arms like a rush of cold air. Though it brought no balm to his body's cricks and aches, Anders still revelled in the momentary respite the draft gave him.

"And you know how he gets when he's angry." he continued though he wasn't really expecting the elf to answer. Begrudging silence was more than enough as he continued to fix everything the elf had messed up. He left the scratches and the shallow wounds alone after sealing them off from infection with his healing magic. It took nearly half an hour before he could pronounce Fenris fit for travel. The elf will most likely feel a dull pain on his chest; raw wounds can do that to you. But at least he didn't have to worry about deflating into himself after getting on his feet.

Hawke felt Anders's silent presence behind him and threw the healer a questioning glance. Aveline was propped up against the dragon's snout, sawing away at the stubborn horn. Varric was going round the dead beast's body, plucking his bolts off the hardened scales.

"He'll live," was all Anders said as he joined Varric in his search. Aveline wasn't paying Hawke much attention, probably because she'd grown tired of him commenting on how to properly go about sawing a dragon's horn off. And even his own dog was ignoring him, choosing instead to nose about the pile of bones all around them. So he helped with Varric's quest as well, though his gaze flitted ever so often towards the lone elf.

His own grey gaze locked on to green before Hawke turned his head away. Everything he'd done to get close to the elf was lying in shambles between them, all because he wasn't able to choose his words better. It saddened him for several reasons, mainly because he counted Fenris as one of his most trusted companions, even more so, because the elf had actually grown to be at least cordial and less sniping. Hawke could still remember their first meeting and how they've parted ways after storming the magister's mansion. The mage had promised himself that he'd prove himself to the elf, make Fenris see that not all mages aim to enslave. All he did, in the end; was prove that he was the same as every mage Fenris had the misfortune to meet.

It wouldn't surprise him if Fenris left for good. His debt was already paid anyway. And though he claimed he'd wait to ambush Danarius in his mansion, they both knew the chances of that happening were slim.

* * *

 

The stone beside his head was hit with the heat of temperament, the elf not even so much as blinking with the movement. He knew he had upset Hawke, the look on the man's face and the tone in his voice enough for the elf to re-think about the situation. The constant jabbing and stabbing in his ribs was disconcerting but despite the agony Fenris refused to look away, his green eyes burning into the mage's before him; daring him to continue. The elf's lips contorted into a snarl, his gaze dark smouldering on the edge, as if the elf was this close to ramming his fist through the mage's chest. But behind the anger and frustration, pain lingered and it was evident that Hawke's slave remark had wounded his pride.

Fenris remained silent as the mage turned away to storm off, watching the broad shoulders and muscular back waver into the haze of his vision only to be replaced by amber eyes. Anders. The elf released the breath he didn't realise he was holding in another fit of coughs, more blood seeping down from his lips in thick clots. Finally he gave into his pain, the lack of oxygen making him dizzy as he let his head tilt back against the stone, yearning to earth himself as the world spun around him.

He refrained to look anywhere near the healer as he felt the eldritch energies run course through his aching body, ebbing away at the pain in faint licks. It was so utterly strange now that he focused on it, but it wasn't a completely pleasant feeling. The motion of his bones chipping and shifting inside him slowly had the elf grimacing from time to time, his vision dotting with stars as he felt his blood rekindle and shift through his body as his adrenaline faded. It was terrifying to him to how close he had just come to killing Hawke. He felt the pricks of his lyrium tattoos verge on the edge as he had neared him, his fingers itchy; poised to plunge into the man's chest and crush his heart just as he had done to countless others. But he hadn't. He refrained and controlled his anger enough to realise that Hawke wasn't his enemy. He only wanted what was best for him and it took the ex-slave to have a near death experience to realise it.

He felt like a fool, his constant bad attitude leaving him with few reliable sources. "I know..." Was all Fenris replied in regard to the apostate as time seemed to drift by in bursts, his head and back still pounding against the cold stone of the unused quarry.

Half an hour later and apparently his lungs were as good as new. The return of oxygen had his head spinning but now that he could clearly discern the world around him, he was almost thankful. He still was marked with open cuts and bruises all over his body but they were but flesh wounds for the elf who forced himself to rise to his feet, a hand steadying his form against the rock. He felt rather sluggish, the healing magic having a slight drunken or euphoric prickling effect as he eventually found balance. His green eyes flicked up in time to catch Hawke's gaze and the two held eye contact for a short moment, the elf's brow lowering instinctively.

'Are you happy, mage? 'The same words rung through his head as he let his gaze fall, a hint of pain evident as he turned away to tread over to the dragon's corpse. Aveline was continuing to saw at the dragon's horn, sweat beading along her forehead as she heaved the blade back and forth. The woman was a powerhouse, one the fugitive could admire. His eyes fell further to catch the glint of a handle and slowly he bent down. His sword lay still embedded in the dragon's neck, the blades surface cracked and broken with shards sticking out of the scales in several intervals. There was no way it was going to repaired again and so Fenris roved back just in time to hear a triumphant cry.

"Now I have you. That'll show Hawke his technique was useless." Aveline declared as she successfully pried the horn away, the heavy bone now being cradled within her arms like a child. "And what does the mage intend to do with the horn?" Fenris questioned in a weary tone, his eyes studying the corpse of the dragon with curiosity. He had heard that the body parts of a dragon were very valuable but he didn't intend to take any for himself. The guardswoman glanced up, her shoulders heaving with the thought. "I don't really know. Apparently an alchemist was interested in collecting dragon samples in the Gallows."

So he intended to visit the Gallows, did he? The thought of Hawke willingly wandering into the templar's arms was rather amusing but he doubted that the man was that stupid. Fenris' temper had begun to sour as his mind meander back to the topic of the tall mage with the thick dark hair. No. He didn't want to think about him right now. Instead he turned around, his head low as he stalked up the mountain path. "Where are you going? We aren't done here yet." Aveline had called out to the elf as he wandered toward the edge of the Bone Pit, his pace quick with jagged elbows swaying at his side.

"I'm done here." Was all he said in return as he disappeared around the corner. He knew he wasn't going to be in Hawke's good books, not anymore. After all, his sword was broken and his body was battered. Perhaps he was doing Hawke a favor by getting rid of his presence so they could focus on harvesting and looting their prized kill. He had done his duty and now he was finding himself in more debt with the refugee, and the more in debt he was the more frustrated he felt. And so the elf trod back to Kirkwall alone and without a weapon. He knew it was a foolish move but he was in no state to continue bashing heads with people, mentally or physically.

Midnight had come and Fenris had found his way back to his mansion successfully. He had been jumped by a lone bandit but simply frightened the man off after giving him a good stare down. He was once again left alone and with three bottles of expensive wine. Smash! The glass scattered violently as an empty bottle collided with the wall, leaving a fresh crimson streak to mark where many previously had collided. A pile of broken glass now scattered against the wall, one that would evidently need to be removed lest the elf end up jabbing himself and needing to get Anders' help once more. He had disliked the fact the abomination had to touch him to ease his condition back to normal in the bone pit.

Why was it that the only source of healing was from that thing's fingers? Why couldn't Hawke do it? The idea of Hawke healing him still disgusted the elf albeit he wouldn't entirely be against it if the situation called for it. For all his worth Hawke was still a free man that wasn't tied down to any foul magic, spirits or demons. Not once had the elf seen the man give into blood magic and whatever demons they had crossed had been slain without any promises or hasty deals. It was evident that Hawke didn't believe in stooping to such levels and part of Fenris wished it would stay that way. But if he knew mages then it was only a matter of time before the raven would give in to his desires and temptations.

Fenris had become increasingly frustrated as time went on. He realised it was now past midnight with the moon high in the sky and Hawke still had not joined him in the affirmation of new drinks. Was the bone pit truly emptied after the dragon was killed? What if there was a second dragon? What if the party had been ambushed and because Fenris had left them now Hawke was face down in the mud or worse; locked in a cage? Or maybe they had got back but upon reaching the Gallows the templars had discovered him, the image of Hawke wrapped in chains in the Gallows depths painting a picture in the elf's mind. Fenris' thoughts strayed to sordid topics the more he counted Hawke's absence. He was a capable man. A strong man...but after the fight with the dragon and judging just how tired and injured everyone was, were they truly fit to hold off against would-be aggressors?

Throwing the chair aside Fenris hastily made his way downstairs. He had to be sure, no, make sure that Hawke was alright. He wandered over toward one of the fallen corpses and pulled out a sword that was lodged between its hips. The blade was unhardened and covered in spider webs but it would be enough to cover the distance between here and Lowtown successfully.

And so the fugitive headed off into the night with sword in hand, determined to find Hawke and sort out their differences so that both of them could come to an understanding or at least, an apology. It was the least they both deserved.

* * *

 

Varric's table was full. The whole gang was there save for Fenris who may or may have not left them for good. The dwarf was downstairs, regaling his listeners with the story of how Hawke and company killed the dragon terrorizing the mines. But for every true word Varric said, three lies popped up to embellish it. No-one knew which to believe and no-one cared. Right now, the dwarf was the center of attention, boots heavy on the wooden tabletop as he strode back and forth. The contents of his foaming mug showered his audience with foul-tasting ale, but not one person moved back to safety. They were all silent as Varric described how Fenris, lithe elf he was; flew for the dragon's neck. And with a sword three times his size, chopped the beast's head off with one stroke.

Hawke who couldn't help but listen in on something that he knew first hand smiled despite himself. That last part was almost true save for the sword. Fenris had used his badly beaten long sword, one that was now left behind, shards still buried into the dragon's flesh. The elf had been at death's door, broken bones and bleeding lung. But he had seen things through and had delivered the killing stroke with a sword broken beyond repair. Such bravery only made the mage respect and admire Fenris' will of stone. Even Anders had confessed to being a tiny bit amazed, even going as far as admitting that the elf was just as stubborn as the Hero of Ferelden. And anyone who knew Anders knew what that grudging admission translated to.

This is probably why the healer hadn't put up as much of a fight when Hawke said that Fenris had a slightly bigger share than the others. Aveline had even wanted to add her full share to that of the wolfs but Hawke refused her. She didn't receive that much from her guard's pay and her own sword and shield looked as though they'll need more than a simple buff and shine. Varric had outright refused his part, claiming instead a right to retell the tale any way he wished. Hawke had held on to a gold piece for the expedition, but the rest of his share went towards getting Fenris a new sword to use.

After trooping their way back to the city, barely recognizable under the blood and mud; the four had parted ways and had agreed to meet up later at the Hanged Man for a badly needed night of drinking and merry-making. Hawke and his mabari had walked part of the way with Anders and Varric before splitting off to head for Gamlen's house. Leandra was beside herself with worry when she saw the state Garrett was in. Even Carver, who usually had something spiteful to say, was unusually silent as Hawke cleaned himself up. The mage surveyed his self in a cracked mirror, wincing at his overall black and blue consistency. He had several gashes, shallow and crusted over with blood that started bleeding again once he scrubbed himself down.

Sometime later, refreshed and freshly bandaged; the elder Hawke made his way to the Gallows. He had the dragon's horn wrapped in cloth and slung over his shoulder, and though the templar guarding the entrance eyed his package suspiciously, he was allowed to pass.

The apostate cringed at the sight of so many armored templars, never quite believing how easily he'd walked his way into the most guarded Circle all over Thedas. He was inconspicuous in his pants and shirt, but he couldn't help being paranoid. The hanging statues only made the place look even more depressing as Hawke walked in the shadow of the columns. But the herbalist who kept his shop here was turning in a good profit, supplying the mages with rare ingredients such as the one Hawke was lugging around.

He received his payment, a mere gold for all the effort they've spent. He accumulated four sovereigns by then, more than enough to get Fenris a new weapon. The mage returned to Hightown where he met with Aveline. Swords were a mystery to him and though Carver probably knew more about long swords than the guard did, he was also an ass. This meant that Hawke and the female warrior had spent quite a lot of time poking through the weapons for sale, haggling and refusing once the merchants wouldn't meet the price they'd asked for.

It was enough to say that they've found nothing but a near fistfight when once extremely stuck up git turned his nose on Hawke. The man probably had something against the refugees for he had refused to attend to any of the mage's queries. Tired, beat-up and angry, only Aveline's timely intervention had stopped Hawke from launching himself across the man's wares and into his face. The two had then retired to Varric's suite, despondent and more than in the mood for a drink. The dwarf came though however and brought out an invitation to a shop in the lower reaches of Darktown. It promised items of greatness and of mysteries beyond the Veil, and though Hawke had seriously doubted the flyer; he found himself crossing a small rickety bridge into the Black Emporium.

The experience in itself was something Varric would have paid to see, and Hawke swore he'll bring the dwarf down here next time. The Antiquarian, antiquated that he was; had offered him a good deal on a rather nice sword he found. The mage had no idea how good the weapon was, but Aveline's appraising eye assured him he'd found a good piece. The sword only cost him more or less one sovereign coin, a real steal compared to the price the Hightown merchants had haggled for. He divided the remaining money between his companions and as everyone started filtering in, Hawke settled himself down for a bit of drinking.

_"Where's Fenris?"_

Isabela's question was an unfortunate reminder. The mage had been so caught up in tying the job close that he'd forgotten his earlier scuffle with the elf. The fugitive had walked out on them, angered and insulted most likely by Hawke's crass words. His face fell, a detail that Varric's discerning eye took note of and emptied his tankard with one gulp. Even Anders had grown silent at the mention of the elf's name, everyone staring at Hawke for answers he could not give.

"He might not join us tonight, Isa." the mage had said wearily as his eyes drifted from the pirate to the weapon he bought for the elf. Varric was supposed to bring the sword and the elf's cut to his mansion tomorrow. The dwarf had wanted to refuse at first, but Hawke had looked so dejected that he found himself agreeing.

And with that innocent question, Hawke's mood fell and he made an excuse to leave. They didn't believe him, of course, but no-one had the heart to hold him back. Even Merrill who had opened her mouth to ask why was rendered silent by the mage's weary slump.

As he left the room, he could hear Isabela turning her attention to the ones who've gone with him to the mine. Varric answered her flippantly, which wouldn't satisfy his fellow rogue. Anders will probably give up and confess, but his version will be colored by his own opinion and idealisms.

Hawke left the tavern in silence, merely nodding at the barman's goodbye. He hesitated outside, torn between just heading home to Gamlen's or climbing the stairs to make up with the elf. He must have stood there in the cold for some time before the brush of chilled wind against his uncovered arms snapped him back to the present.

Sighing, the mage went down the steps right in front of the bar and sat on the topmost, leaning against the wall. He was almost comfortable, and had there been no threat of getting mugged or murdered; the mage would have gone to sleep. Instead he just sat like an idiot, mulling over his options. He can go back in and warm himself up in Varric's room, ignore the fiasco with Fenris and wait things out. Or he can barge in on the elf and demand they make up and shake on it.

The last option almost made him laugh as he imagined the look on the wolf's face. He was chuckling to himself like an idiot when he saw a shadow coming down the other set of stairs. He watched the approaching figure warily, hands clenched in readiness for a fight when he saw a shock of pure white hair, the glimmer of lyrium tattoos and a flash of green.

"Maker... I must be drunk."


	3. A Drink and A Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4, Peach-scented Oil was posted by mistake instead of this chapter.  
> Please forgive the confusion and keep reading on.

The trek to Lowtown was rather quick; the night toying with the shadows to force smaller details to vanish. The refineries churned loudly as columns of smoke spat up into the cold nightly air, smouldering ash clotting and dotting along the ground in vacant clouds. Lowtown was a cesspool, a filthy district filled with cheap whores, cheap wine and plenty of crime. At night the thugs would usually make their patrols, the amount gratefully not being as numerous since the Sharps and a healthy gathering of slavers were removed. But like vermin, once a number had been culled another would move in to take its place, the cycle of debauchery continuing.

Fenris had scaled down the stairs with ease despite his deteriorated and slightly drunken state, clothes charred with the remnants of drakefire. The warrior's breastplate had taken a beating as well but unlike his sword it was created of higher quality metal. It would only take a few knocks of a blacksmith's hammer to batter it back into place but for now his appearance was the least of his concern. The elf found his muscles aching and creaking with fatigue the further he went but did not let it distract him from his cause. The pain was but a reminder of the transpired events that had happened in the Bone Pit, a pain that he felt he entirely deserved.

Hawke always had a way of getting under Fenris' skin in the same way the elf had a way of getting under his. It wasn't the same as it was with Anders, the will to kill constantly looming in the background like a haunting shadow. No, the frustration he felt with Hawke was different, almost fond. The warrior knew the man had good intentions and wanted him to have his eyes opened to the evils around him. But no matter how much Fenris had tried to prove his point or how many horror stories about the Imperium he recited, the mage was still content in his own beliefs. And it was enough to make him want to beat his face in or perhaps even do more.

His thoughts were cut as he suddenly felt a wave of energy wash over him, lyrium markings sparking in that faint uncomfortable tickle that alerted him to the presence of magic. They itched and beaded with anticipation the closer he drew toward the Hanged Man, his elven eyes checking every shadow and every corner for any hint of movement. The sword on his back swung wearily, a limp evident in his step as he trailed with caution. The blade was unsharpened and unhardened, a virginal weapon whose only use was to be jabbed between a skeleton's ribs. It wasn't the best line of defense, the shape marring it as a decorative hobbyist's tool rather than a weapon used for cutting open wounds into an enemy. It was also far too short for the elf's liking but if it meant putting distance between him and any would-be attackers then it would suffice.

Suddenly, as he neared the corner he found the aura singing away, the markings wriggling under his skin. It was that same familiarity, a sense that brought his mind to realise that he had not planned out how to talk to the mage for the entire night and journey spent coming here. What was he going to say? Fenris was a gifted swordsman, an intimidating and invaluable ally on the battlefield but to be placed into a situation where he had to rely on being social and talk out his feelings; it was his Achilles heel.

Rounding the stairs his eyes meet with Hawke's, grey burying curiously, almost disbelievingly into green. Despite his close run in with death, the elf didn't look too dreadful. His usually neat hair was unkempt and his face sliced in a myriad of different cuts and open wounds. The middle of his lip had split entirely, a fresh scar no doubt that would likely take weeks to fully recover.

The relief in knowing that Hawke was okay felt like a breath of fresh air, the posture of the smaller male shifting as he steadily came up the stairs two steps at a time. He lowered his gaze somewhat as he ascended the case, steadily limping his way over until he leaned against the wall next of Hawke. Fenris kept quiet for a moment with mind reeling. The mage was safe and alive but that only deepened the problem at hand. How was he going to apologise and why would he especially after what the human had referred to him as? Fenris was out of his depth here, never having had to deal with the repercussions of a social life before. Even the Fog Warriors weren't this awkward.

So he decided to go out on a limb; choosing to ease the conversation with common ground, a mutual understanding - something they could familiarize themselves with. "The mansion is open if you're still up for drinks." Sure, invite the man with more alcohol; make him forget about what happened in the pit; the elf found him immediately regretting his chosen introduction. But on the other hand, perhaps forgetting about it was for the best. As Isabela would say 'the past is the past and that's where it should stay'. Making short talk over a round of drinks in good company, private company might be just what the two men needed; a leverage to get over their hiccups and to relax and unwind.

The elf cleared his throat as he looked away, brow twisting and furrowing as he fought to find the right words. "I...apologize for the outburst today," Fenris spoke in a slow, slightly higher pitched tone, like you could tell he felt out of place and awkward simply mentioning about it. "The argument between me and the mage clouded my judgement. I...didn't realize it may have affected you as well. I'm sorry." He forgot that Hawke actually cared about his wellbeing at times, remembering the days when he was simply tossed around as a toy or treated like a pet at the hands of the cruel oppressors in Tevinter. The elf had glanced up at the end of his apology to give Hawke a rather earnest look, one that made his eyes rather round and sad. Merril had mentioned of the elf's puppy-dogs eyes more than once, the ex-slave often denying its existence entirely for the sake of his pride. Yet here in a rare moment of honesty and vulnerability the elf's defences had lowered enough to make the apostates observations entirely true.

* * *

 

He watched Fenris shift from foot to foot, the elf's awkward words filling the silence around them. The mage opened his mouth to answer, only to shut his lips and meet the wolf's eyes. He allowed the silence to stretch on as comfortable as it possibly could before getting to his feet. Fenris smelled like a bonfire in summer, scorch marks and ashes still marring his wounded features and he looked as though he hadn't recovered properly from the fight, his clothes and armor still bearing the marks of the beating he'd received. His appearance had most likely discouraged any night-time adventurers lurking the shadows, that and the short sword across his back. Hawke's eyes were drawn to the weapon, staring as he imagined Fenris using such a light sword. He'd grown accustomed to the elf gracefully wielding a long sword that any other weapons made the elf seem ill-settled.

"Can you wait here? I'll just get my things," was all he said instead and when he received no discernible refute; he made his way back in the tavern. He could feel the warrior's stare drilling into the back of his head and it almost made him glance back just to assure himself that Fenris really was standing there.

It wasn't the alcohol, nor was it half an hour of standing in the cold; but Hawke could feel goosebumps running up and down his arms. He slipped past the drunken bodies and up the stairs in a half-run, almost bursting into Varric's suite with a wild look in his eyes. Most of his crew was visibly startled by Hawke's arrival but Varric was smirking; a bottle of mead held out at the mage. Hawke took it with a smile as Isabela continued her lurid story with as much pomp and dazzle as Varric's tales. Anders was staring at Hawke with an odd look in his eyes before turning his attention back to the pirate.

Carver, on the other hand; was turning over Hawke's long sword in his hand; a frown creasing his dark brows. He didn't give it up easily, but Varric set him straight when the boy acted as though he wanted to claim the weapon for himself.

Finally, with both bottle and weapon in hands; Hawke hurried his way down. This time, he did burst through the door, the heavy wood slamming against the wall with a resounding bang. And there Fenris was, leaning against the wall Hawke had vacated; his head inclined towards the mage's noisy exit.

"Sorry, Carver held me back for a stupid reason," and hefted the sword round his shoulder, taking care that its sharpened point did not scrape and dull against the stone. He was still trying to figure out how he'd hand the sword over to the elf without insulting the other. Varric proposed accidentally leaving the weapon in the mansion; Anders suggested stabbing the elf with it. Isabela, after hearing the story; suggested a show and tell. How that was supposed to happen Hawke didn't know, probably because they've changed the topic in a hurry.

It was an uncomfortable weight on his shoulders and every step he took made the thing slide down his shoulder, which had Hawke hefting it back to place every meter or so. Lowtown was quickly fading behind them, and soon they were climbing the stairs towards the elf's hideout. There was no light-hearted banter to fill the silence between them, but there was no lack of voices laughing and screaming all around. They heard an occasional fight breaking out, spotted one or two glittering eyes watching them from the alleys. But they didn't run into any trouble, most folks around here recognized Hawke and his friends.

Only when the smell of piss and rot faded away to be replaced by the smell of night-lilies blooming did Hawke realize they've reached Hightown. Countless windows beamed down upon them, candles flickering behind glass to throw living shadows upon the two. It was much quieter up here, where the rich hid behind their opulent homes and threatening guards. As they walked through the paved streets, Hawke couldn't help but pause in front of the old Amell estate. He had once walked past it with his mother on their way to the Chantry, Leandra stopping to rub her weathered hands against the lime walls. She'd been so sad then, but Hawke could do nothing but grip her hand in his and lead her away.

Fenris, barefoot and quick made no sound at his passing, the only way you knew he was there was when you caught sight of his markings and hair, a silver beacon despite the moonless night. Hawke had no need to look however, painfully aware of the elf's every move. Most mages would have no problem tracking the elf if they were close enough. Magic did have a tendency to call out to lyrium, and Justice had once said he found the elf's markings... hypnotizing.

But that wasn't the only reason why, it was a known fact between him and Varric; that Hawke couldn't help gravitating towards the elf. In battle, the mage always had the warrior in the corner of his sight, always the first one to assist once he saw enemies crowding around the wolf. He'd always played it off as his way of looking out for his friends, but Varric did point out that Fenris had Hawke's attention more often than not. Had anyone else called Hawke a 'scourge upon the face of the world', they'd have received a fireball to the face, but all the elf received was an exasperated sigh and another tankard of ale.

So he followed Fenris to his mansion, never losing the elf in the dark because of the lyrium pathways and favoritism, which meant that Hawke was free to spend his thoughts elsewhere such as on what exactly was he supposed to say.

He thought it over thoroughly and came to the conclusion that though he needed to apologize for what he said; he was never going to regret throwing the wolf at the healer. And when he's finally seated in his usual seat, mead burning down his throat; the mage finally found the guts to speak.

"Before anything else, I want you to know that I regretted my words deeply. It wasn't mine or anyone's right to drop insults on you just like that," he let the words settle for a moment or so before continuing; knowing full well that what he'll say next would only incite the warrior's anger.

"But I will not say sorry for making Anders heal you. I did what I thought was right, though the words I said were wrong and given a chance, I'll do the same thing all over again. You were dying and I couldn't let you do that. I've buried too many bones in my time, and though it may be selfish; I won't let any of my friends die on my watch."

Bethany... Her memory was like a haunting spectre and Hawke had to admit that a great part of his morals had been shaped by her passing. Her death had been a low point for all she left behind, and Leandra's accusing words had only driven the spike of guilt further into her eldest.

"You're not a lone wolf anymore, Fenris. You have people by your side now, people that care; though Anders might say that he doesn't," a smirk lit the mage's face at the thought of Anders's reaction at the idea. But he soon grew serious as he took another swig from the bottle passing between them.

"So... take care of yourself better, I get worried sometimes."

* * *

 

The walk back to Hightown was filled with an understanding silence, the screams and threatening glances from the shadows almost expectant as they made way up the heavy flights of stairs. If Fenris wasn't sore before he certainly was now; his legs and muscles swelling with each stride until it became painfully clear that the concussion he had received wasn't to be taken lightly. Realistically he knew that he would require a few days rest as well as Hawke, both of them looking at their worst for the first time in months. But if the mage was required to whisk the warrior way from his abode on another horrendous trip through the wilds or otherwise, then Fenris would be more than willing to accompany him.

The elf noted the man gazing at him occasionally as they passed through the empty streets, leaves and the occasional lost hat rolling through the open districts in the wind. Potent flowers and oil was always a stark change to the stench of shit, ash and dirt. Hawke looked rather ragged but the fugitive noted the look of calm and relief clearly evident in his features. What puzzled him most was the sword the mage seemed intent on carrying. It was a blade worthy of a fighter; its edges clean cut and inscribed with a pattern of what seemed to be hydras. The elf was almost tempted to ask Hawke if he wanted him to carry it instead, the human's step laboured and off balance as he tried to keep the heavy weapon from slipping off his shoulder.

With a loud creak and the smell of burning wood, the two entered the abandoned mansion, the last set of stairs welcoming to a dying flame. Fenris quickly went about re-stoking the fire, adding a few new additions of firewood pried from the furniture of the estate. An expensive but small painting was added to the midst, the picture of a nobleman with what seemed to be a chained monkey quickly dissolving into a sea of molten yellow.

Time passed merrily between the swigs of the bottle. For once the elf had opened conversation and was more than willing to respond. Fenris was lucky the entire mansion didn't burn down while he was gone but if it did, it wouldn't exactly be of any terrible loss to him.

"I know what you did was right, Hawke. I couldn't have made it out of that pit in the condition I was in. I...never thought I'd say this but...thank you," The elf shifted in his chair, hips wriggling further into the cushions to stabilize himself as the hand on the armrest extended out to grasp around the girth of the offered bottle. His gauntlets were laid near the floor of his chair, allowing his sore fingers and knuckles to refresh without constriction. "And I know I'm no longer alone but I don't need your pity. I have been alone for most of my life. Danarius wasn't exactly someone I would call refreshing company." He tilt his head back lightly to take a guzzle of the wine, this particular selection rather amber. It was quite delicious, the burning sensation in the back of his throat surrendering to a warm welcome.

The comment about taking care of himself better caught the elf in a mild chuckle, his eyes shifting over to capture Hawke's. The man willingly and openly admitted to caring about him was soothing to the elf. Too many times had he been insulted, treated with malice that kind words were truly appreciated. In their own way they seemed, seem rather irrational. If anyone needed to be taken care of then it was Hawke. The man couldn't step two feet outside without someone jumping him yet here he was, worrying for the ex-slave's sake.

"I'm sure you get worried a lot." Fenris teased in a playful tone, a tiny smug grin pulling at his lips. After the walk through Lowtown and back the three bottles he had consumed previously now were rushing to his head, making the man speak his mind a lot more proficiently. He handed the bottle back to Hawke for his turn of a swig, feet kicking a small broken leg of a chair into the flames to smoulder away.

"Tell me," The elf started after a moment of hesitation, his gaze slipping toward the flames as if searching for the right way to propose the question. "Why is it that the abomination can perform such magic but you cannot? Surely, there are ways you can learn. You are after all, fairly skilled." It was a puzzle that had been bothering him for some time. He didn't want to admit it but Fenris would be more open minded in regards to accepting the healing magic if it came from Hawke's hands instead of that creatures. Each mage had a different influence of magic much like a fingerprint. It was a signature, some mages specializing in certain elements while others cheated and simply turned to blood magic because it was easy and effective. If the fugitive could get Hawke to be the one to heal him in battle then the healing would indeed be welcome.

* * *

 

Truth be told, Hawke hadn't expected the query, especially from Fenris himself. The elf avoided magic like the plague, more content with proving why all mages should be locked up in the circles. But it was a question he himself had asked long ago and he now gave the answer that his father once gave him.

"Because every mage is different," he answered thoughtfully. His father had ended the lesson at that and had left the young Hawke to figure the rest out for himself. It took him quite a lot of time, nearly two years and countless conversations with other mages before he realized there was no proven reason why.

"No-one really knows why a certain mage is more proficient with primal spells instead of arcane ones. Some people said it's hereditary, some claimed it has to do with how powerful a mage is," The bottle changed hands once more and Hawke took a small swig of his own. "But I've always thought it was because of how a mage grew up, and what his priorities are. Take for example Merrill and Anders. Merrill is more of a primal mage, her spells heavily based on earth and lightning which are naturally occurring. Consider her Dalish upbringing in comparison to Anders who has grown up in the Circle. Anders and his ability to heal is a result of years and years of studying the heavy tomes in the Circle libraries. Healers must be knowledgeable about the inner workings of a body in order to do their job correctly," the idea of Anders poring over books was a laughable one but the mage knew that the idea is indeed a fact, at least more several years ago.

"This brings this circle back to me, and why I can't use healing spells. My family had three apostates, and even though we lived in Ferelden, an apostate still was a threat to everyone else. Books about magic were rare and often tightly controlled by the templars. My father, a Circle escapee; knew how to heal and make seals. And though he tried teaching me and Beth the basics of that particular school; he couldn't do much without the proper texts."

The mead finally ran out, and they've switched to one of the elf's wines instead. The fire smouldered warmly in the hearth and with the alcohol in his system, Hawke was growing very comfortable in his perch.

"I might be able to learn from Anders, he'd probably be happy to have another hand around the clinic..." he brought his attention back to Fenris, his own curiosity growing too much to ignore.

"Why'd you ask anyway? I doubt it's because you wanted to understand the inner workings of a mage." Hawke blinked at a thought and nearly slapped himself for considering the idea. Magic was magic and there was no way Fenris would have a turnabout just because different hands were casting it.

"Correct me if I'm wrong... but are you asking me this because you'd prefer my magic... over Anders?" The words were out of his mouth, too late to swallow them back down. Hawke sat stiffly in his chair, fingers wearing a hole in his pants. He avoided looking at the elf, convinced he'd just made a fool of himself in the warrior's eyes.

* * *

 

It was curious how very mage carried a different signature and it made sense how the mages each explored different branches of the magic tree from their experiences. But that didn't make things any less dangerous. Despite what encounters they may have had as individuals, as a whole mages were still incapable of handling their power. Fenris often wondered what it would be like to sleep at night, visions and dreams of demons speaking to him, tempting him with otherworldly offers of power and desire.

The elf sighed gently as Hawke made the observation. So he had been that obvious, had he? He knew asking the mage about his magic trials would instigate a question in turn, one that evidently made the warrior shift uncomfortably. Just what was he going to say? Admit to Hawke that he preferred him over Anders and give the man the wrong impression? No, he would have to select his words carefully, enough to satisfy the mage's curiosity without giving away too much incentive.

Fenris cleared his throat in a brisk but gentle manner, hips once again rolling back into the cushion of his chair. "It's-it's not that," The elf stumbled. "The...abomination is untrustworthy. He is a dangerous and troubled man, one I suspect has hurt many in the name of his so called plight." Not that the fugitive was one to talk, if anyone was dangerous and troubled it was him. After all, he was the only one in their band that could deliver a fatal blow with a single strike even without a weapon, not to mention a horrible and cruel death at that. "I would not willingly place my life in his hands...but in yours...it might be different."

It wasn't exactly a smooth explanation but it was one that didn't stray too close to being personal. The elf leaned down to grasp at another bottle of wine, his deft fingers uncorking the head quickly so that he could fill his mouth with more wine lest he wanted to continue his awkward confession. Heavy gulps of the fluid flooded down his throat, enough to cause the elf to cough slightly as he raised the bottle away from his lips, wiping his mouth on the back of his knuckles.

"Back in Tevinter, very few mages pursued the art of healing. There, they taught only pain and how to conquer one's enemies in the most destructive of ways. To feel magic that isn't intent on breaking a man..." His words turned to silence as his brain flooded with a swarm of foreboding memories. A banquet in a grand hall, magisters of assorted ages gathered around luxurious tables filled with expensive imported foods. Slaves produced like trophies, their bare skin glistening as their masters paraded them around in circles, greedy fingers sliding over them to test their loyalty and obedience. A boy no younger than five lying at an altar covered in his own blood, Danarius standing over him with a vicious haunting grin.

"But enough," The elf called in demand, his body swaying slightly as he came to face the mage once more. Fenris eyed the man down, bare fingers swinging the bottle back and forth in a lazy pattern; gaze though drunken still thick with intent. "Tell me, Hawke. Did you ever have lessons with your father that didn't involve magic? Your brother boasts how he received private training with your predecessor. Didn't you seek to gain the same knowledge with a weapon as he did?" It was a clever question, one that the elf had carefully plotted, reminding the mage as why he intended on bringing the weapon with him.

If Hawke planned on giving Fenris the sword then it would only drive the wedge of debt further into the elf's pockets, a constant painful reminder of just how much he had begun to rely on the human for aid. It was endearing but also extremely frustrating. He didn't need the mage looking out for him or anyone. He was self-sufficient and independent but slowly as the weeks had worn on; relying on the mage wasn't entirely without its rewards. Dare he admit but Fenris felt that he had not only gained a debt with the mage but possibly a blooming friendship as well.

A connection he had not felt, appreciated nor accepted in a long time.

* * *

 

"Hah! Carver said that did he?" Hawke retorted with a grin, the image of his younger brother's private 'training' with their father surfacing in fond memory. "Bet he never told you how that came about. Next time you see him, ask him about that." But soon the mirth died down as the memory only served to remind him of what he'd lost.

"I had no interest in swords and bows; Carver was doing enough slashing and hacking to satisfy our need for gore. What I did do though, was take a crash course in fisticuffs from the soldiers stationed in whichever town we were hiding at. My father would sometimes spar with me, but those occasions were rare and often interrupted."

He talked easily, reclining in comfort against the cushions padding his chair. He noted how Fenris' eyes often strayed to the long sword leaning against Hawke's chair. Saw how the warrior would frown a bit every time he did so. The mage reckoned he'd finally get over his inhibitions and just straight out ask what the sword was for. But that seemed like a long time coming and every minute Fenris spent wondering about it was likely to turn the gesture sour.

So he finally gave up and wordlessly handed the sword over to the elf along with the coin purse that contained the rest of the elf's share. He couldn't hide the fact that the sword was for the elf, but there was no way in hell that he'd back out now.

"I took the cost out of your slice, because I knew you'd never take it if I gave it to you as a gift." he explained with a sigh, noting the tiniest of reactions from the other. "It cost nearly nothing, but Aveline assured me it was a better piece than your old one. The Hightown shops had better but more expensive swords, so we got this from an old guy in the Darktown sewers." Well, the Black Emporium was still a shop, a nifty one at that; but downplaying i's appearance might do something for the elf's hesitations.

"He said it was the very sword the King of Ferelden himself used when he was still a Grey Warden, but it could also be some dead person's sword he'd filched off a grave. Who knows with these things? But if you don't take it, then I'd have to look for another brooding glow-elf that can wield it like you do."

Hawke adopted his best wilting look, almost pouting as he stared soulfully at the wolf. "Isabela would be heart broken. Varric will call me a chicken. Merrill would probably visit you with a basket of freshly baked bread and milk, hoping to cheer you up. Carver will be an ass about it, since that's the only thing he does best. Aveline... well, I don't really know how she'll react. But Anders will definitely hold a party." his tone was teasing as he coaxed, tried to sell the whole thing off on Fenris all at once.

"In a way, it was I who broke your sword because I dragged you to a fight with a thick-skinned dragon. So you can look at this as my way of making reparations." Hawke was quickly running out of excuses and he somehow wondered whether Anders' idea would be feasible; stab the elf with it and run.

* * *

 

The elf's curiosity was finally sated but it did little to ease the welling of guilt in his stomach, one that Hawke knowingly buried into. "Enough, Hawke..." The elf had answered to Hawke's pleas in an irritated tone, the mage's reasons becoming more ridiculous and outlandish with each passing second. With a roll of his eyes and shoulders the elf pushed himself from out of his chair with a squeak to come stand before the offered sword. Its surface glimmered in the dancing light of the fire and Fenris had to admit it was even more enchanting up close. Steadily a hand rose to grasp onto the hilt and the other onto the coin purse, the satchel being hurled onto the bed where many others had accumulated in an unused pile.

He pulled the handle close, his eyes studying the markings in hope to find out if Hawke was telling the truth. The blade of a ruined king would be a treasure to wield but as far as the elf could observe there were no insignia or royal seals. He raised his other hand to grip onto the handle, feeling the weight of the sword in his hands as he gently bounced it in his palms, the blade surprisingly light. Casually the elf turned around, the blade still dancing casually within his grasp as his gaze caught sight of his target. With a quick swing and a push of his thigh the sword rose up over the elf's shoulder and down, its edge slicing through the wood of the closest table. The wood splintered heavily with the blow, shrapnel flying through the air as whatever was on the table collapsed toward the centre, the table caving in on itself.

The sword sung in the now silent air, Fenris steadily pulling the blade back to gaze down its length in admiration. The lack of weight and the ability to carve with ease was a tell-tale sign of good craftsmanship. "It is a fine offering. I think I'll accept it. Thank you, Hawke." The swordsman turned around slowly to place the weapon against the edge of his bed. Casually he strolled back over with a limp, the chair groaning under his weight as his body settled back down.

"You mentioned that you used to do...fisticuffs?" The word rolled slowly off the elf's lips, like it was a struggle to use the strange slang. Human's had an odd way of speech sometimes and it would make the elf speak slower than intended. He shifted in his chair, struggling to find a comfortable position as he thought about the prospect of teaching the mage. It would save him the trouble of having to manhandle people that got too close to the Fereldan in battle if the mage learnt how to properly defend himself. Also he had borne witness the jabs Carver had made at his brother, the chip on his shoulder deep enough to reach the Deep Roads. He could guess Hawke and Carver sometimes had the odd tussle and to give Hawke an advantage over his whiny sibling bought an unknowing grin to the elf's face.

"What would you do if I told you that you could complete your training...but not with 'fisticuffs'." Fenris proposed as he leaned forward, elbows resting in his lap as he eyed the mage down with drunken confidence. "Back in the Imperium, fighting with swords wasn't the only art we were taught. No, sometimes the magisters would organise arena battles where the only weapon you had were your own two fists. Of course it wasn't always a blood bath. Sometimes you were allowed to wrestle like two pigs in a pen...The looks on their faces as they watched you roll around in the mud were less than satisfying." Fenris rolled his eyes at the thought, the way Danarius would lick his lips as Fenris would hold his opponent face down into the ground in order to drown him in the earthly filth.

"I could offer you the same training, if you wished." He leant back with bottle in hand once more, lips painting in the tangy liquid as he emptied another two mouthfuls of the alcohol into his already burning stomach. His head spun momentarily as he pulled the bottle away to study the label; a grape here, a griffon there but otherwise the letters were all but blurred gibberish. "If you're interested I could teach you how to use that staff of yours just as my sword...well, perhaps not in the same manner." Fenris chuckled gently at the thought of Hawke running around swinging his stave like a scythe. "Either that or I could teach you hand to hand combat. No tricks, of course." The elf wriggled his fingers in amusement as the lyrium on his hands burnt to life momentarily, his skin becoming transparent for but a breath of time.

* * *

 

"I'd take you up on the offer if you promise to hold off on the mud wrestling," he answered with a laugh, though he'd only caught parts of the whole conversation. The image of Fenris swinging the sword was burned into the mage's mind. His manly pride taking a blow when he saw how the elf easily wave about the sword that had near broken Hawke's back. It just goes to show how far the mage had let himself slide with his physical training.

He wasted no time thinking the idea over, quick to agree with anything that'd let him stick to the elf's side, though Hawke doubted the sincerity of the offer. Fenris looked as though he was on his last legs, the fatigue and his drunken stupor piling up to impair the wolf's judgement. The mage knew that Fenris would have never said such things had they been sober and thinking clearly. But he wasn't one to let such an offer pass. Even if Fenris did forget by the morning, Hawke was sure to remind him of it.

The mage glanced around them, noting the empty bottles on the table. They've gone through what seemed like three or four drafts of alcohol. He had a couple of shots back in the Hanged Man but he'd been drinking at a careful pace, unlike the elf who'd been guzzling the drinks down like water which stands to reason why Fenris was in a jolly mood.

The mage took the last bottle from the elf's hands, and emptied it. It had been half full and sweet enough that the mage found no trouble swallowing it. He was delightfully buzzed, his chest warm and fuzzy with alcohol as he rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling. Though he knew he'd most likely wake up by the morrow with a killer headache, the apostate swore he won't regret it. It was a good ending to such a bad day.

"You know, when you left us back in the Bone Pit earlier. I almost swore we'd never see you again. You were so angry at me that I'd almost given up on reconciliation," the mage knew he was rambling, but he was so so comfortable as he reclined further in the chair, limbs folded over one arm of the furniture. His grey gaze was warm and liquid, like molten silver when it roved over the elf's form. A yawn threatened to break out but he swallowed it down and stretched his legs instead.

"But I'm glad you came back," and smiled. The mage got to his feet unsteadily, one hand holding on to his chair as he rose to his full height. He hadn't missed the elf's limps and his tired slump, but unlike Anders; Hawke was no healer. So there was nothing he could do to remedy the aches and pain Fenris had. The only thing he could do was to let the elf rest. Perhaps drop by again tomorrow with some compress or bath for the muscle pain they were both sure to suffer.

"I've taken too much of your time," the mage said, mindful of the hour. "You don't need to see me out, I can make my way," and with his farewell said, he turned his back on the warrior albeit a bit more dizzy than he'd care for.

* * *

 

Fenris let Hawke take the bottle from him in order to empty the last of it, his eyes shutting momentarily as he felt his head spin lightly, the world wobbling in a gentle sway around him. He couldn't help but chuckle at the mud comment, amazed that man hadn't resorted to perverted jokes like he usually would. The whole mention of mud and teaching Hawke to use his staff like his sword could have been taken as an innuendo but at this moment in time, the elf felt like he could talk freely without much care as to what would come from his mouth.

And then the mage had to go about the blasted bone pit again. Just hearing about it made the elf want to groan in complaint. He had invited Hawke in to forget about what happened and to simply let it rest so they could have a good end to their rather harrowing day. But no, here he was, blurting out how grateful he felt and as thoughtful as the gesture was, Fenris only wanted the mage to shut up. Thankfully, it was like the man had read his mind and had pulled himself to his feet, the mage swaying slightly as he attempted to ground himself before leaving.  
The warrior chose to stay sitting, his hand rising slightly to bid him farewell as he watched the Ferelden turn around and leave the premises, the tattoos over his body tickling faintly as the aura shifted out of range.

The elf sighed with content as he allowed his eyes to close once more, the lazy licks of flame slowly drawing against the backdrop of his eyes to whisk him away into an eased slumber. For once there were no nightmares, no dreams about elongated hallways or the visages of evil mages, only the face of the man that had come to visit him. Hawke smiled at him in his sleep, his memories playing out a night the fugitive had joined them at the Hanged Man. The bar was barely discernible, blurring in an orange muck as the figures around him mumbled in a distant whisper. The only thing he could clearly hear was the rich laughter of the mage before him, the man's eyes glittering with mischief as he held up his hand, a solid deck in his hands. The victorious and confident grin on Hawke's face was enough for Fenris to gather he had won the game, his eyes slowly casting down at his hands to gaze at his own set of cards. All that stared back at him was vacant white, no numbers, no pictures, not even an inked border; an empty set of white nothingness.

The laughter drew the elf's eyes back up, the mage placing his cards onto the table before him. "I win." Hawke declared with a smug expression, the mage leaning forward enough so that the wolf could clearly make out the flicks of colour dancing behind those trickster eyes. Fenris' heated gaze then slipped further, watching as he neared the veins on the mage's neck and found his own body responding; his loins tightening against the fabric of his pants. "It's time to collect my prize." And with that, Hawke closed the distance between them, the elf's eyes grazing up to capture Hawke's once more as their heads leaned closer, the elf finding his body yearning to edge nearer, hands grasping to pull at the man's collar. But before he could advance a sudden noise startled him and Hawke's face all but washed away into the backdrop, the elf's eyes flying open as he suddenly launched out of his chair, toppling sideways to land on the ground with a loud bang.

His head pounded and Fenris had no choice but to groan, his eyes clenching against the streams of sunlight bursting through his windows. He could hear the sounds of footsteps nearing the edge of his stairs and immediately the elf's heart race; despite the protest of his pounding skull and aching muscles the warrior quickly scrambling to his feet, glass bottles scattering across the ground as he found the sword leaning against this bed. Gripping the handle the ex-slave quickly turned around, hauling the sword up onto his shoulder as he carefully approached the door, lyrium markings itching and poised to burst.

"'Ello? Elf, you there?" Varric. With a groan of pain and disappointment the elf lowered his arms, the sword swinging at his side as he walked across the open landing to find the rugged dwarf half-way up the flight of stairs. "What do you want, Varric?" Fenris asked with a less than pleased tone, his fingers running across a pounding temple surging with blood. The dwarf noted the elf's appearance, a knowing and rather amusing look pulling at his solid features. "Good news! Hawke's just got another deal today which means we'll be heading into the Deep Roads in less than a week. You're welcome to come join the celebration...after you pull yourself together, of course." Fenris wasn't quite sure what the dwarf meant until he felt the rather uncomfortable graze against the inside of his leggings. It didn't take him long to realise he was sporting his arousal and rather openly, his sword quickly lowering to block the view though the dwarf had probably seen a thousand hard-ons in his lifetime's worth of work to truly care.

"I'll see that I come to it later." Fenris muttered quickly as he spun around to drag himself back into the bedroom, only this time to close the door behind him without the dwarf peeking in. He threw the sword against the wall, the sound of the blade ricocheting causing a painful ring to reverberate within his sensitive ears. His mouth felt horribly dry and so he scrambled over toward his bedside table to recover a flask, emptying the stale water into his mouth with heavy gulps. Thankfully his erection hadn't been full enough to cause too much embarrassment but knowing the dwarf and his fondness for writing stories, Fenris knew he was going to spread a rumor of having seen the elf in his morning glory.

Isabela would be jumping all over the tale within a heartbeat.

* * *

 

The Bone Pit affair, despite the troubles they had; was actually one of Hawke's better ventures. Hubert, in a singular stroke of genius had offered Hawke half of the rights to the mine. Needless to say, the mage had more than jumped at the chance of supplementary income and after the workers heard that one of their bosses was a Fereldan like them had emerged from their drunken coma to go back to work.

You wouldn't have thought it possible, but the mine was actually turning out quite a profit. Hubert had courteously sent over five pieces of gold with promise of more by the next month. It was all Hawke needed to fill his and Varric's piggy bank for the expedition. And so, despite it being the wee hours of the morning; Hawke had woken Varric from where the dwarf was kipping and dragged him off to Hightown. The two spent most of their time standing around as one after the other the people in the expedition started to trickle in. They usually had such meetings at Bartrand's behest, the younger Tethras explained.

And once the snippy older dwarf himself arrived, Varric had led him away for a private talk. Hawke went around and talked to some of the people gathered where he met Bodahn and his adopted son, Sandal. The dwarf was an alright sort, and if his tale was to be believed; he was a brave one as well. Hawke couldn't imagine how it came about but the dwarf had once spent some time with the Hero of Ferelden. Hawke however could not help but doubt his words about Sandal's enchanting prowess.

Bartrand returned shortly with Varric in tow. The older dwarf had a stormy expression on his face while the younger was literally all teeth. After grudgingly explaining the outline of the expedition to the mage, the dwarf had given them a timeline: One last week of preparations before they set off for the Deep Roads. The elder Tethras took the bulk of Hawke's money and Anders' maps before shooing them off, claiming that there was nothing else they could do. The mage had been sorely tempted to set his pants on fire for that quip but he could also see why Bartrand wanted them out of his face. The shit-eating grins he and Varric were sporting would be enough to piss off even the most peaceful of men.

So then they made their way back to the Hanged Man to make plans for the expedition. There was also the case of who was better brought hundreds of feet below the surface for two to three weeks' worth of treasure hunting. Anders was an obvious choice, seeing as how the man's taint would be useful in sensing darkspawn and though the mage had expressed his distaste for the Deep Roads, he had also vowed to go wherever Hawke dragged him to.

And so the dwarf and mage were left at an impasse wondering who they should bring last. Bartrand had specified that he would take no more than four additional people on the trip and Hawke had found the request reasonable. There wouldn't be enough food to go around if they brought too many men.

Aveline would have been one of Hawke's first choices, but the guardswoman had once mentioned that it would be impossible for her to leave the barracks for more than a week. Merrill was interested and had nothing to do in the alienage; but Hawke did not trust her enough to live with her for nearly a month with thousands of tons of earth above their head. Sebastian was definitely out, Choir-boy was still too caught mourning the death of his family to be of any use underground. Isabela , gifted fighter as she was had been noncommittal in her answers to the point that it was obvious to Hawke that the pirate didn't like her chances with the darkspawn which brought the choices down to Carver and Fenris, two of the warriors in their group; both proficient with the blade.

The two had mulled it over carefully, bantering reasons as to why this one should go and why this one should stay. In the end, they were both leaning towards Fenris but had held the decision off to talk it over with both men later.

And then he and the dwarf had decided a party was in order, even if people were still recovering from last night's binge. They only had one week left to prepare after all, and what better way to do so than to drown one's self in alcohol. The bar man had agreed to pull out some of his better vintage from storage for their celebration whereas Nora had grudgingly said that she'll cook some of her better dishes for tonight.

They've split ways then, Varric heading off to settle some business of sort; and Hawke went off to continue his interrupted sleep.

When the sun was low enough in the sky to turn the clouds purple, Hawke had woken and dressed. Carver was nowhere around though their mother said that he'll be joining them later in their celebration. Gamlen was looking at him with morose eyes, probably waiting to be invited to the party to which Hawke did not extend. Siruis had been grounded by Leandra for nibbling at her sewing the day before.

By the time he made it to the Hanged Man a short distance away the sun had hidden in the sea and the moon had risen to take its place. The sound of drunken cheers welcomed him into the warm despite smelly confines of the tavern as Isabela guided him to Varric's suite where nearly everyone else had gathered. They had just started on the ale, the first bottle just about half done when Hawke arrived. They had also started an intense game of Wicked Grace where Isabela had been exempted for her cheating ways. At least everyone had learned from their previous mistake of playing against the pirate. They'd most likely draw her in later, after the stakes had been lowered, but for now, it was up to Hawke to relieve them of their coins.

He settled himself in place and joined the game, going easy on the ale while they waited for everyone else to show up. Carver showed up in a few with Merrill at his six. Aveline and Sebastian arrived together, most likely after they ran into each other in Hightown. A wordless glance at the guardswoman had her shaking her head; the gesture was lost on everyone except Hawke and the dwarf. It was after all, Hawke's private way of asking Aveline if she'd seen a particular elf.

But the mage did not have to wait long, because the man himself walked into the room. The mage was several coins richer then, a small pile growing in front of him, more so when the new arrivals had joined in.

He gestured towards an unoccupied seat across the table from him, silently inviting Fenris to the chair before he dealt the elf in. Isabela, since she wasn't allowed to play just yet; handed a full tankard to the elf and decided to play a different game on her own, mainly make lewd comments about everyone else in the room, starting with Aveline.

"Your leg any better?" the mage asked once Fenris was seated. The cards flew from his hands in quick succession, dealt with speed that hinted at the mage's familiarity with the game. "Varric told me he's gone to see you earlier, said something about you having problems with your flooring?" The phrase had mystified the mage earlier when Varric said it. The dwarf had used a different term and had Hawke been the naive sort, he would have missed the innuendos.

"Or hardwood as he called it. Anything I can help with?" he asked with a barely suppressed grin.

* * *

 

The smell of piss and vomit assailed his nostrils as he entered the tavern, a few of the patrons turning in their seats to give the elf a curious or frightened once over. He had spent the day after Varric's untimely interruption cleaning himself up in the broken tub in the mansion's basement, contemplating about the lewd dream that had taken place the previous night. What confused him most was not the sexual tension he had felt between Hawke and himself but how his body responded so eagerly, the dream but a whisper in the back of his mind as he recollected the moment they had almost kissed. Warm waters and a dusty remnant of soap was used to scrub his body from head to toe, the clear waters turning into a muddy red by the end of his session.

He had scrubbed as much of himself as possible, attending to the various cuts and wounds still littered across his tanned skin. He had also taken the measure to wash his hair, the stink of drakefire still evident. After the bath Fenris had headed downstairs to re-stock the wine. Unfortunately, the supply was beginning to get low, the elf only counting a shelf and a half left. It would supply him for at least another month before he would run out and he made a mental note to try and squander more alcohol when he was given the chance and the free time to do so.

So now he found himself in the Hanged Man, scaling the stairs towards Varric's suite when he heard the sound of banter and the chinking of glasses. He entered the room only to immediately find one of the tankards slipping into his grasp, the pirate practically knocking it into his chest. He was late, the rest of the party already having secured a seat until all that remained was one facing...no. The elf carried the tankard with care as he guided himself over to the chair, his eyes scanning between the table's patrons as they handled their hand of cards attentively. It all seemed so eerily familiar, like he was replaying an event in his life that had already transpired.

He slowly lowered himself down into the chair, his free hand positioning his new sword faithfully at his side. This was just all too strange. He took a heavy swig of the tankard, the cheap ale stinging against his healing lip as he swallowed the swill almost gratefully. "Or hardwood as he called it-" Fenris didn't even realise he had been greeted until the words flew so quickly out of Hawke's mouth it almost caused the warrior to spit his ale across the table. The elf coughed heavily as he struggled to swallow the ale in his mouth, a fist beating at the side of his chest to aid the fit of coughs that threatened to consume him. His lungs constricted painfully, reminding that they were not entirely healed from the dragon's callous blows. The elf's reaction had caused a wave of laughter to erupt from the pirate wench's mouth, the corner of her eyes dotting in tears as she tried to suppress her mocking tone. Damn that dwarf and his overly sized mouth.

The fingers wrapped around the tankard tightened as more laughter joined the fray, this time by Anders who too knew about the elf's mid-morning mishap. Fenris's knuckles turned white, the tankard slowly crushing in his iron grip as he tried to steady the sudden wave of anger and embarrassment washing over him, his eyes but wide under the clear accusation. Hawke knew and that was enough for the elf to regain his composition, fingers steadily unwrapping from the tankard to pluck up the cards that were thrown before him.

No, he would not allow this to play out as it had occurred in his dream. He would not let Hawke waver his pride nor take advantage of his position; not this time. Now more than ever the fugitive was determined to win Wicked Grace. He had never won, not with Isabela cheating by hiding cards up her skirt or between her breasts but with her out of the way, perhaps it was all the elf needed. He did not feed Hawke with any more ammunition for his jokes, preferring to remain silent like a jaguar stalking his prey as he glanced down at his hand. Good, the thought. He possessed a healthy hand, not a perfect hand but definitely something he would work with. Tonight, he was going to wipe the smug grin off the mage's face and try breaking him in to reclaim his lost pride.

Fenris didn't even know what the prize was, but if things went according to plan then he would hope something would come along. He had thought it would be more than money. Sure, loss of coin would still cause Hawke to fume lightly in defeat but the elf yearned for something else.

Tonight, he was going to win, one way or another.

* * *

 

When he saw the glare thrown his way, Hawke knew he was in for a beating but he kept his hopes up and prayed that Fenris won't get the urge to test his new sword on the mage. The teasing words were meant only for the elf's ears, but Hawke should have known Isabela was listening in. The wench was never oblivious to anything perverted happening around her. It was like she had a built-in antenna for such things and though the trait would have been useful for something else the mage should have expected his luck to run out. What he didn't expect was for Anders to listen in as well. The fellow mage was sitting a few chairs off to the side, trapped between a bickering Merrill and Sebastian; but he still somehow managed to hear Hawke's jibe.

Perhaps Fenris would have been less incensed had Anders not been such a gossip, but Hawke still felt sheepish. The look he gave Fenris conveyed as much. Which didn't seem to work anyway since the elf was now focused on his cards. At least even if the warrior was bent on beating Hawke up for embarrassing him, he'd chosen to do it through cards instead of fists, that much being obvious because the first round ended with Hawke winning and Fenris a close second. Merrill lost that round and lost nearly a third of her silvers, her fault for raising despite her bad hand.

The game progressed quickly, and everyone noted how it seemed as though the winners were always either the human or the elf seated across each other. Varric had thrown his lot in a game ago and had instead started a tally. One after the other, the rest started dropping out until the only ones playing were Hawke and Fenris. The money they'd collected were merely changing hands every game or so though Hawke was leading by one win.

There were only four people sitting round the table, as everyone else had wandered off to different corners of the room with drinks. Anders and Varric were betting on Hawke and Fenris, respectively. The healer was actually snarling his curses every time the elf won a game.

But the competition was going nowhere and with the money pool merely circling the two, Varric had a stroke of genius.

"Why don't you two play for a prize, instead of coin?" the dwarf suggested, drawing both their attention from each other. "Loser has to do what the winner wants for a day. Don't glare at me elf, I'm not suggesting slavery. It's all for the game, right? Anyway, you can always stab Hawke with your shiny new sword if you're not happy with his request. What can you lose?"

It was a good argument and an enticing incentive whether he won or lost. The mage was looking forward to spending more time around the elf, and with Varric's suggestion; it was literally a win-win situation. He could have kissed the dwarf there and then.

He met the elf's gaze with a taunt, egging Fenris to accept the terms. "Don't tell me you're backing out now? What, you scared of a mage?" the mage dropped his voice at the word, adopting Fenris' insulting tone with more bitterness than he intended. Even Anders looked impressed and Varric was giving out a low whistle.

"Ooh, Broody. I'm not you, but that burned!" the dwarf barked with a laugh. Isabela, after hearing Varric's comment strayed over and watched as the game continued. The rest, attracted by the grave silence surrounding the table approached and watched with mixed expressions of bemusement and confusion as Hawke and Fenris literally stared daggers at each other.

The score was at fourteen and thirteen, in favor of Hawke. They've agreed to race to fifteen wins. The second to the last round had been in Fenris' favor which tied them at fourteen-all. Hawke had a good set on him, but he was missing a certain card to cement his win. The elf was a brick wall, and no-one had seen his cards. Varric dealt the last two cards and Hawke couldn't help but pray as he reached for his.

He dragged the flimsy piece of paper towards him and carefully lifted a corner of the card. Swears immediately erupted from behind him as the people who've bet their money on him started verbally abusing the mage. Hawke almost felt put out with their reactions as he dropped his set on the table. The last card was no good, and judging from the elf's smirk; it was clear who the winner of the game is. Indeed, with an almost suave flick of his wrists; the cards he held cascaded on top of Hawke's. It was a winning hand, the best he'd ever played that night.

"Aw, Fenris... Hawke merely wanted to help you with your tree. Isabela said grew too big to fit? I don't see how that would make you so angry." A light-hearted voice suddenly quipped as everyone stared wide-eyed at Merrill. Isabela finally lost it, and once the dam broke it had everyone laughing their lungs out. Everyone except for the two elves, one who had a mystified look on her face, and the other who looked as though he was itching to start using his sword on everyone.

Hawke stifled his laugh and went round the table to get Fenris to a smaller table to the side, a safe distance from the elf's weapon. He tried to keep his face straight as he refilled their empty tankards, silently urging the elf to drink. The warrior still had a peeved look on his face that Hawke merely found strangely endearing. Others would have run when they saw the elf, but it only made the mage grin, one that he hid behind his glass.

"Well, it's nearly midnight and you've won fair and square. I'm yours for a day, to do what you will. Be it washing your smalls or helping you with renovating."

* * *

 

"Scared? Pah. Not in your life, mage." Fenris answered coolly to the Fereldan's taunt, his eyes reverting back to his cards. Accumulated in perfect synchronization, the build of his deck was perfect. He kept the cards tucked in, shoulders hunched as he loomed over his hand to prevent anyone from behind him reading or spoiling his run. All he needed was one more, just once more to land the perfect execution and as the dwarf dealt out the last cards the elf knew he was victorious. His poker face shifted to that of a snarky smirk as he flicked his wrist, the crowd residing behind Hawke whining in protest as his deck was placed out; the elf's first win with the best build he had gathered all night, one to rival even one of Isabela's sets.

But his victory was short lived when the elven apostate spoke up, the innuendo and reminder of what had caused him to sink with such determination into the game enough for the wolf's fingers to clench tightly. The metal talons of his gauntlets cut into his flesh like knives, veins straining at the edges of his neck as crimson streams ran freely between his fingertips. The glare he gave Merrill was riddled with the intent to kill, the conjoining laughter all but causing the blood to rush to the fugitive's head. No, he would not lose his temper, not here. He had just won his first game of Wicked Grace ever and had beaten Hawke against all odds. Yet, despite having won, he truly did not feel like a winner, rather more as a target of ridicule for his companions. Blasted mage, why did he have to spoil such pleasant sleep?

The warrior unclenched his fingers as crimson dots dripped onto the table, a newly filled tankard jingling before him. Gratefully, he took the swill and emptied the entire thing down his throat in a series of heavy gulps, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he eyed the mage down. "You played well." Fenris complimented in regard to their game, the tie unbelievably close that several rounds had threatened to send Fenris's deck to the grave. He shifted in his chair so he could bring himself to stand, his legs aching from constantly guarding over his cards with a staunch hunch. He let his legs stretch lightly as the party members gathered around the two males to congratulate them both on a good performance. Yes, he was victorious and Hawke had offered to work for him for a day. Not in the manner of a slave, otherwise Fenris would have outright refused the game...but as a servant. "A tempting offer, I'll have to consider it before tomorrow morning so you can begin your tasks bright an early."

"So Hawke is going to become Fenris' manservant for a day. That must be interesting," Chipped in Isabela as she roved around the two men to nestle neatly between them, her eyes twinkling with mischief and a degree of interest that the former slave couldn't read. The woman leaned over to place an arm over Hawke's shoulder, almost as if she was consoling him...or encouraging him. "So what do you plan to have the poor sod do? Oh, and please, don't skip out on any details; I want to know all the dirty bits. Do you plan to have him fix your floorboards after all?" The will to slap her had always loomed in the back of his mind but now more than ever did his fingers itch ready to lay one on her.

Varric was also listening on the conversation, the dwarf preoccupying himself with re-stacking the cards as he leant over close enough to catch any juicy bits of information. What did Fenris really intend to do with Hawke? He had rarely been in charge of another person save for his experiences back in Tevinter where he would sometimes instruct the other slaves in regard to fighting or intercepting them on Danarius' behalf. But again, this wasn't to turn Hawke into a slave or 'manservant' as Isabela had so pleasantly put it. He thought deeply on the matter, his brow furrowing as he considered every possibility. Now that he had won the game, his previous vengeance had seemed to fade over and allowing him to reassess the situation more realistically. But if it wasn't for Hawke spilling the beans then perhaps no one would have laughed at him in the first place.

A wicked idea passed through his thoughts as he answered Isabela's inquiry. "I think I'll make him give me a foot massage," Fenris responded casually, his tone riddled with only a hint of ridicule. "And I think I'll also have him celebrate my victory with a dance." The green orbs of the warrior's eyes failed to hide his glee at the thought of the mage getting up onto Varric's table to pirouette like his own personal ballerina. It wasn't much but it would be enough to get the point across that his dignity wasn't out of reach.

* * *

 

"Maker save us all," Carver suddenly piped up. The boy had been sitting nearby and though he wasn't paying careful attention, the notion of his older brother dancing had roused him from his own thoughts, and if the smirk painted on his face was anything to judge by then he wasn't about to offer moral support. "You want this, to dance?" he asked, a rude finger nearly poking Hawke's eye out. "I have no idea what weed you've been smoking Fenris, but do you really want your eyes to bleed out?"

"As if you're one to talk," Hawke had retorted lightly, though his gaze was narrowed at his younger brother. "If I remember correctly, it wasn't I who sent that farmer's daughter home with a broken leg during the harvest festival."

"She slipped in a puddle!"

"Right, a puddle in the middle of a drought."

There was the sound of metal against leather as Carver drew his sword. Isabela was faster and she soon had the younger Hawke's sword hand twisted behind his back. The boy was spitting mad before, but he quickly changed his tone when the rogue pulled his arm further.

"I think you've had to too much to drink, Junior. Why don't you come this way and cry your heart out on Isabela's chest," the pirate cooed as she led Carver across the room. Hawke watched his brother throw a last glare at him before turning his attention back to the elf. He shook his head and threw the last of his drink down his throat. It was no secret that Hawke had been nothing but tolerant of his brother and that Carver tends to blame everything on his brother. But no-one had seen their arguments develop into an all-out brawl. They'd have never expected that Carver would actually pull a sword out on something so petty.

"Ignore it," Hawke merely said and refilled his tankard from a bottle. When he met the elf's gaze once again, the previous light of teasing humor was back in the grey depths. "A dance, eh? You sure you don't want to do this somewhere more private? Like, on your lap?" the mage had said with a chuckle. It wasn't that he was that good of a dancer; Carver had been half right when he implied that the mage was not that good. But everyone here had seen the mage in more compromising situations, how worse can a dance get?

He was properly drunk by the time he gathered enough courage to ask Varric for assistance. The dwarf had laughed and left to borrow a guitar from the barman. When he came back, Isabela had clapped in glee and took the instrument in her own hands. She then came over, strumming the wire and humming lowly. Hawke merely sighed and got to his feet; urging everyone to clear a spot on the floor. They moved the table to the wall and stood back silently, though nearly everyone had an amused grin on their face.

By then Hawke had loosened up enough to actually start swaying to the music, even going as far as to unbutton his shirt with Isabela's low voice settling on a Rivaini folk song. The mage did not recognize the words, but the tune was all that mattered as he stomped his foot in time with the guitar's sharp twang. His hands settled loosely on his hips, accentuating the bones of his waist as rolled his shoulders back. The pirate after getting her cue from the mage grinned and started the song in earnest.

He tapped his heels along with the guitar as he raised his arms above his head, mentally thanking the courtesans in the Rose who had these kind of shows every once in a while. Madam Lusine had said that the dance was supposed to tempt, and tempt it did with the way the moves were focused on the dancer's waist and chest. Hawke, who was lacking some of the important parts, made do with what he'd seen from the male courtesans, meaning that he was all but molesting himself as he ran his hands down over his taut stomach and toward his legs. There was little upper body movement save for when he was supposed to show off the way his back muscles moved. Instead, he treated the group to a show of his strung belly and how it moved with the music. With an almost discernible snap, he rolled his hips with the music, hands clapping to the tune. One foot in front of the other, hipbones jaunting and pointed towards the seated elf. Their gazes met and never broke as Hawke danced. Every step brought him closer and closer to Fenris, until the last strums of the guitar vibrated into nothing, and Isabela's song died off to a stunned silence.

He was panting deeply as though he had just run a marathon. The dance hadn't been that wild, but controlling his limbs to form the poses he wanted had been just as tiring. By then, he was all but sitting on the elf's lap as he braced his hands against the wall behind them. Fenris was trapped under his shadow, but the warrior had not broken the gaze Hawke had held for so long.

"That was... surprising." Varric finally said and just like that the silence was broken. Everyone was suddenly talking and someone was pushing a full glass in Hawke's hand as he collapsed on a chair besides the elf.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that!?" Carver was asking over the din.

"I remember seeing some of the courtesans dancing it in the Pearl, but I've never thought I'd see Hawke doing it," was Anders slightly hypnotized observation.

The mage merely grinned at their reactions and drank from his glass, turning his attention towards the elf instead as everyone finally got over their shock and started asking Isabela for another song.

"I hoped I performed to your expectations. I don't think I can live with the memory of a repeat performance," the mage admitted, finally clueing the elf in on just how out his skin he had been. Bravado was all he had going for him now, a facade that he strove to maintain even as his heart thumped in nervousness.

* * *

 

Fenris remained seated though his fingers had splayed automatically around the hilt of his sword, ready to draw the weapon to life should Carver persist in attacking his sibling in his drunken stupor. Thankfully, Isabela was closer and had taken it upon herself to haul the younger man away, Carver's sword dragging across the floorboards as he was pulled away into the pirate's bosom. He turned his attention back to Hawke as his hand released the handle and placing the now empty tankard down onto the table. "A dance, eh. You sure you don't want to do this somewhere more private? Like, on your lap?" The comment left the elf wide eyed, a corner of his lips twitching as an itch in his throat commanded him to cough. "N-No, no, that won't be necessary." The elf countered in a gentle tone, his hands poised in case the mage had gotten too confident and yearned to move closer.

Thankfully no such event occurred. The elf's tankard was refilled a numerous amount of times as the party continued on into the night. The patrons of the tavern slowly made their ways up into the adjacent corridors, the night still young as the bustle of celebration tempted would-be party crashers and curious bystanders to peek around the door. Varric had gone to fetch a guitar from the lower bar and those who stood around drinking and making conversation moved out of the way, their combined efforts easily shifting the large dwarven table and furniture against the wall. Fenris moved his own, much to Varric's encouragement of course to the back of the room to give Hawke enough space to dance while allowing the warrior to watch from the best spot.

With tankard in hand he came to sit, thighs lightly parting as Isabela had taken control of the instrument, beginning to strum away as the chords begun to fill the air in an elegant symphony. Hawke unbuttoned his shirt, earning a small coo of interest from the apostate elf as he slowly began to move in time with the music. Fenris sat back to enjoy the view, an amused smirk pulling at his lips as he tried his best to not chuckle at the male dancer. His movements seemed like they were meant for a woman, the elf's eyes roving where Hawke's hands pulled, watching as his hips rolled and shoulders swayed.

The pace of the beat begun to pick up and soon enough the elf found his mouth becoming dry, the man increasing his tempo as his hands wandered further, Fenris watching eagerly as his fingers trailed down his stomach and toward the lower reaches of his body. Mesmerizing was the only word he could describe it. Sure, Hawke was not the most skilled dancer with movements sometimes a little sharp or clumsy for his build but the gyrating turns of his body balanced with the accentuation of his masculine features was enough to silence the entire party. "Maker..." The guardswoman exclaimed as Hawke endeavoured to bring himself closer, his skin faintly scintillating under the low lighting in perspiration.

Fenris' mind had run on empty, watching as Hawke turned to shift his gaze over the mage's body, drinking him in. He couldn't quite make it out, if it was the alcohol making the dance seem appealing or if it was Hawke but the warrior had lost all train of thought as he found himself watching the man's ass, the cheeks plump and ripe like fruit ready for the picking. The alcohol must have been playing tricks on his mind.

Their eyes had kept locked together in a rather intense gaze, Fenris determined to keep Hawke steady as the mage panted against him, his muscles rather pleasant as they pressed against him. He felt almost tempted to reach up and steady the man by his thighs but the comments and odd compliments coming from their party members had the elf realise this was not the time nor the place to indulge in such selfish measures. Fenris left his arms hanging over the sides of the chair, determined to keep them both at bay as the mage leaned against the wall to catch his breath, weight shifting once more that had the elf briefly twitch with a delightful pain.

The dance had felt more than being intimate, like Hawke had entirely performed for Fenris personally; disregarding how the others would perceive or judge the interaction. It made the warrior realise just how dry his mouth had become, one of his loose arms swinging up to pull the half-empty tankard to his lips in order to quench his thirst. A thirst he did not realise he had suddenly laboured for the human...until this morning.

"Quite the show Hawke, I'm impressed." Fenris complimented as the mage pushed himself into the chair next of the elf, his bare chest still beaded with sweat. Fenris searched for Carver as he gave the younger Hawke brother a sly grin, almost teasing him in response to his previous doubts. The wolf took another sip of the swill from his tankard as his eyes cast out in thought. "Not too bad...for a mage."

And so the warrior raised his tankard, sluggishly seeking to make a silent toast with the rather exhausted raven. "The Deep Roads await." It was an offering of peace and a warm regard to the upcoming trip Hawke would have to face, a daunting one that stood as the pinnacle of their first year and a half in Kirkwall. With the toast completed, the elf brought the tankard back to his lips and emptied its contents once more, his eye watching Hawke from the side of his fringe as he downed the cheap ale until all that was left were stains.

_He wasn't so bad for a mage or a man at all..._


	4. Peach-scented Oil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the real Chapter 4.  
> If you've read this before, you might want to go back a chapter.  
> I made a mistake and jumbled the numbers somewhat.   
> So I don't think you've read the previous chapter yet.  
> You wouldn't want to miss it either, XD.  
> It's where Fenris realized he has the hots for our shameless mage.

The party wore on well through the night as everyone got more and more inebriated. Anders, though he denied it when he got sober; emboldened by Hawke's earlier performance was stripping down to his small clothes, gyrating on top of the table as Isabela cheered him on. The healer kept glancing over at his fellow mages, winking and wiggling his finger at them in what was supposed to be a 'come hither' look. Merrill being the good sport that she was had joined the drunken mage in his dance, although she refused to release any of her clothes.

Sebastian and Aveline had a table to themselves, heads down in a serious discussion about which blacksmith make the best armor. The guardswoman was more in favor of practicality while the prince insisted on appearance. Their voices would sometimes rise until it was a full blown shouting match. But as soon as they saw someone watching them; they'd conduct themselves properly and continue their argument in hushed whispers.

Hawke had not left his chair except for when his bladder finally reminded him of the insane amount of alcohol he was ingesting. He had been talking to Varric about the expedition; the dwarf relaying the full extent of Bartrand's plan to the mage. It was when he got back from his ninth trip to relieve himself that Carver sat down with them.

The boy had sobered up a bit, as Hawke knew he would. The younger Hawke never did hold his alcohol well, and he'd almost always throw up everything he'd drunk. Indeed, Carver looked slightly squeamish as he came back from wherever he'd decided to leave his upchucks. Hawke offered him another mug, but the warrior was sober enough to recognize his limits. This also meant that he was more than ready to start another argument with his older brother. In this case: an argument about the sword that Fenris presently wielded.

"Isn't that your sword, brother?" the younger Hawke had said, almost innocently as he pointed at the very thing he was talking about.

Hawke, drunk as he was; caught the hidden question fast enough to answer as vaguely as he could.

"No, that's a long sword. And so far, only you and Fenris can carry the bloody thing without breaking their backs," he scoffed and met Varric's eye. The dwarf fortunately had enough sense in him to interrupt the conversation with news that was sure to placate the younger man.

"So, Junior. Ready for the expedition? We don't want you getting cold feet when you see darkspawn down in those tunnels." the dwarf said. The simple question was more than enough to draw Carver's accusing gaze away from his brother once he realized that he really was going with them to the Deep Roads. Hawke was left forgotten as soon as Varric led his brother away to discuss the venture.

The raven found himself alone in Fenris' company, who was most likely drilling a hole in Hawke's head with his stare. The mage sighed and turned to return the stare in guilt. He and Varric had finally decided to bring Carver instead of the elf. In the first place, his younger brother had been the one to suggest the expedition to Hawke. It was one of his rare strokes of genius and the boy had lorded it over him for days. It wasn't that the mage actually preferred him over the fugitive, but there was also the fact that leaving Carver unsupervised for a long time, one long grudging month, might be the warrior's breaking point. Hawke wouldn't put it past the boy to join the templars just to spite his brother.

"We can only bring four people down, Varric and I included," he started and frowned at the thought. "Anders will be joining us, and as you've heard; so will Carver." He watched as Varric sent him an all-clear and sent Carver off to Isabela's side before joining the mage's conversation.

"I had my vote for you elf, if it makes you feel any better. But Carver had first draw. And if I hadn't been counted as one of Hawke's number, I'm pretty sure you'll be going with us too. _"_

"As it is, we have to leave quite a lot of people behind," the mage said as he watched everyone in the room fondly.

* * *

 

"But even if we do die down there, you'd at least have Hawke's dance to remember him by," the dwarf cackled at his own morbid humour before leaving the two to themselves.

The elf gave the impression that his stomach was a bottomless pit - tankard after tankard being merrily emptied all in the name of the Hawke sibling's success. Anders had provided live entertainment, the healer stripping sensually down to his smalls as he cast looks at Hawke, obviously inspired to make a fool of himself. Though the warrior usually held distaste for the abomination he found himself quietly enjoying the dance, not letting his eyes linger too long as to give the wrong impression. With arguments spurning from the corner between Aveline and Sebastian while the mages went about dancing on the table tops it was evident that the party was growing on the steadily drunken elf who remained quiet, amusing himself with his observations as the celebration swirled around him.

Yet despite all that transpired, the elf couldn't help but have his gaze lured back to a certain mage who allude Varric with the details of their expedition. Fenris knew little of the Deep Roads except it was a rite of passage for the wardens who wished to die a worthy death. Other than that, most of the horror stories he had heard about were associated with the dark passageways; darkspawn this, taint that. He knew that the mage was skilled and together they worked as an effective team but his doubts began to rise as he soon as it came to light he wasn't going to join them.

Carver was going in the fugitives place meaning that Hawke, Varric and Anders were the only other members who would be venturing down into the accused tunnels. Knowing that their company would be gone for at least a month had the elf shift in his seat uncomfortably. He was their better pick but knowing he had been cast aside in the name or fairness had the former slave glowering somewhat. Just how did they expect to venture into such a dangerous location with Carver there? Sure, the boy was a skilled swordsman but having witnessed how both Garrett and his brother clashed constantly, it would mean they would be distracted for the entirety of the journey.

But the wolf couldn't argue to the wind, not when the decision had already been made. A month without Hawke would be a dangerous time. If Danarius arrived at the mansion then it would certainly mean a bloody and gruelling fight, one that the elf suspected he wouldn't win. No, he would have to play it smart. He would still have Aveline and Sebastian to rely on. Merril was out of the question; there was no way he was ever going to seek the aid of a reckless maleificar. With Anders gone it would also mean they were lacking a healer and the thought of walking around with an open leg wound for a month wasn't the most appetizing of thoughts.

"Hmmm, as you wish then," Fenris had responded in a weary tone, as if he suspected no good to come from the expedition with Carver there to act as a wet blanket. It was almost as if the man was a jinx, often drawing bad luck to him in the form of minor accidents. "And yes, I suppose that is a good memory to go out on." The elf chuckled as he drew away from such thoughts; hazed visions reminiscing about the rather tantalising dance Hawke had given earlier; the elf unable to wash the imprint of the mage's ass out of his memories.

The party continued on through the night with more drinks making the rounds. Fenris' senses had begun to cloud once the party had ended, many of those that had drunken too much now passed out in various places around the room; Carver slumped against the wall and Merril curled up on the rug like a kitten. Even Anders had fallen unconscious, his now naked form gently cradling what seemed to be a pillow in his arms as he slept upon the end of Varric's bed. Aveline and Sebastian had left the party earlier on, neither of the two seeking to indulge themselves in more alcohol. Isabela had mysteriously vanished, probably having gone off to find a suitor for the night in one of the private rooms of the Hanged Man.

Fenris had barely been able to keep his form straight by the end of the party, the elf saying his farewells to drunkenly haul himself back toward his Hightown Mansion. Despite how his feet fought against his wishes he had pulled himself up each flight of stairs and had entered the mansion without trouble, no gangs nor thugs having harassed the warrior in his ascent.

It was high noon when he had woken up from his sleep, his lips peeling at the pillowcase as he pulled his form off the bed in order to fetch a drink. Maker his head hurt, two or three days of drinking heavily every night catching up on him. Yet despite the pounding at his skull he felt a rather nice hum run through his skin, like he felt refreshed despite how muddled his mind was. He took a cold bath to ease his tension, his head continuously dunking into the icy cold water to soak away any remains of old starch.  
He then got dressed, knowing that Hawke would be arriving at any moment. This time he chose to leave his breastplate behind as well as his gauntlets and sword, choosing to hang them in the bedroom.

Since his run-in with the dragon he had the armor repaired of any dents or scratches with the coin Hawke had fed him. Eventually he had emptied most of the coin purses into his waist pockets, the next items on the list he intended to purchase was a new stock of wine for his cellar. The elf waited for Hawke by sitting on the edge of his bed with sword resting against his thigh, whetstone grazing down the edge of the finely crafted blade. It didn't need much sharpening but it allowed the warrior time to admire and bond with the weapon, its surface singing every time the stone swept against it. It truly was a beautiful blade and Fenris made a mental note to properly thank the mage later.

* * *

 

For the first time in days, Hawke found himself rousing from a most filling sleep. Seven hours of sleep uninterrupted by either Gamlen or Carver, and he was almost good as new. The bunk above his was empty of his brother, the boy most likely still asleep in Varric's suite. Siruis was curled up at the foot of Hawke's bed, lending his body heat to prevent a serious case of chilled toes. Leandra, having heard her son waking up called out to him with a smile in her voice. Hawke hadn't told her of their decision to bring Carver down to the deep roads. But as he broke his fast with freshly baked bread and homemade jam, he ended up explaining, convincing and assuring his mother.

It was just about noon when Hawke dressed to go out. He'd spent the past hour sending order forms to the people supplying him with potions, runes, and even some poisons. The news of the expedition's departure date was sure to have made its rounds already and Hawke did not wish to leave unprepared. Sent this early, at least his contacts would have enough time to craft and brew the rather sizeable orders he'd asked for.

As he bent to clasp his boots closed, Leandra showed up with a basket in hand. The smell of piping hot rolls and the tangy sweet scent of peach jam filled the air as she handed the bundle to Hawke. Even Siruis had padded over and was now staring at her with soulful eyes. She laughed and finally allowed the dog freedom from his punishment.

"You're always at that elf's place, Garrett," she chided just as Hawke slipped past her with Siruis at his heels. The mage merely answered her smile with a grin of his own before bading her farewell in thanks.

Despite the constant beating his liver was taking, Hawke was in a surprisingly chipper mood. Anders, who had recovered enough to wonder at his undressed state had handed his fellow mage a potion for his hangover. It worked its wonders almost immediately after Hawke had consumed it, his headache clearing along with the slightly disgusting feeling of flour and web in his mouth.

And thus, there he was; almost skipping down the road as he headed off to what should have been a punishment. He may have lost at cards, lost quite a bit of money to the elf, as well as some of his dignity; but the mage felt like he got something better. Varric had done him a favour with his quickened thinking and though the dancing bit had nearly culled his excitement, it seemed to have worked in his favor anyways.

He took the stairs at a run, a madman with a basket dashing up and through the streets of Hightown. Many turned to stare, especially with Siruis lopping at his side. As such, when he got to the elf; the mage was clutching a stitch in his side. The ruckus he'd made as he ran the door down had definitely alerted Fenris to his presence; a bemused glance his way as the elf continued to calmly sharpen his sword.

"I brought lunch, my dog's company, and me. Which one would you want first?" the mage asked grinning as he placed the basket down on the table. The mabari had gone off to explore, and Hawke prayed that Fenris hadn't laid down any traps that the dog wouldn't sense. He was planning on bringing the dog down with them to the Deep Roads and the mabari will be no use with a trap around his snout.

"So you've got my attentions for the rest of the day, surely you've more to ask than a simple foot rub?" Hawke had urged, seating himself and hoping that Fenris wouldn't want to bring a wine bottle out. He wouldn't be able to refuse the rich treat, but three nights of successive drinking followed by more drinking seemed like a practice, an unhealthy one too.

* * *

 

The sound outside the mansion was enough for the elf's sensitive ears to pick up even with the whetstone grinding near his lap. Footsteps and quick ones too nearing his front door with heavy treads, the pace slightly laboured and if the elf was one to judge he had guessed the mage had run the entire journey here. He shook his head as the front door closed behind the panting of heavy breaths, his tattoos once more inflaming with an uncomfortable itch as the aura of the familiar mage washed over him. Fenris glanced up in time to see Hawke staggering into his abode, mabari faithfully at his side. What he didn't expect was the offering of lunch, the elf's nose picking up a fragrance of peaches and freshly baked bread.

"A gift from your mother, I presume?" The elf inquired as he placed the whetstone onto his bed so his hands were free to move his sword aside, leaning the weapon gently against the bedside table. Not that he doubted Hawke but the man didn't seem to radiate of cooking finesse. The elf leaned out to greet Siruis, his bare hands running through the beasts coat in a few rough strokes. He rather liked the mabari, a breed with such intelligence and strength that it was hard not to admire. Siriuis happily wagged his stubby tail and left the room to scamper down the stairs in order to explore the mansion at Hawke's behest.

"Mmm, I had not thought of what else there is to do." The elf admitted as he wandered toward the basket to eye the selection. He brazenly reached out to grab one of the warm rolls, his fingers teasing the bread with curiosity. He tested the roll with a small bite, the glazed sweetness truly a welcome change from the stale reminder of alcohol that clouded his mouth in a bitter net. He made a small hum of approval toward the bread, the elf rather fond of fruity flavours, particularly apples despite its sweetness. "I thought that it would be wise to clean the corpses out of the mansion. They've been attracting vermin..." Fenris made a faint recollection of the time he recently went down to re-stock the cellar only to find a plague of rats consuming the rotten flesh on some of the skeletons that lay in the mansion's depths. The corpses had lingered there way before the party had barged in to ambush Danarius. Perhaps one of the corpses was of the Tevinter Merchant, not that you could identify any, their skin all but hollow and dry.

They could stack the corpses into the centre of the manor where they could burn them down. That way, they wouldn't need to raise suspicion and cause chaos in Hightown. If the nobles saw them lugging rotten corpses around in broad daylight they would surely scamper and cause rumors. The last thing the elf desired was to have more heat, especially with Hawke departing in less than a week. He bit into the roll once more, the sweetness and taste of peaches overwhelming his senses in delight. It seemed that Hawke was more than willing to do more for the warrior than a simple massage, but what exactly would the Tevinter slave make him do? Or better yet, what did Hawke want to do? The mage's questionable behavior and flirty attitude was open for all eyes to see but Hawke had always favoured acting sultry toward Fenris in particular.

Did the mage desire him or was it all just cold bluffs? The elf was more than aware of his reputation at the Blooming Rose. He had thought the mage to be a satisfied man who took his pleasures in an impersonal manner. The idea of Hawke lusting after him brought on an array of different emotions; confusion, doubt, curiosity, apprehension...and even a desire of his own. Hawke was a handsome man and after getting a good eyeful of him last night it was clear his body too was something to be appraised. How his hips and chest had moved in time with the music and chanting had the elf hypnotized, sparking the light of curiosity in the warrior's heart to let his mind wander to the possibility of something happening between the two.

He finished his sweet roll to dust his hands off on his tunic. Fenris was dressed casually for once, his calves and muscular thighs bulging against the tight leggings. His tunic was in need of repair still, the ends still singed with a black corrosion, leaving his arms completely bare from the shoulders down. Without the gauntlets in the way Hawke could clearly discern the muscles on the elf's body, veins running faintly beneath the tanned muscles as they rippled even with the most simple of movements. Scars were spotted interrupting the paths of lyrium, many layering over eachother in sharp uneven patterns. Some were battle scars caused by arrows or sharp weaponry, others seemed to be more elusive to their cause, the scars fainter and shaped in strange patterns as impressions of physical torture.

"But we can start here if you'd like," The elf interjected as he moved back to sit on the bed. At first it seemed like he was almost inviting Hawke to join him before he raised his legs, tattooed feet resting against the threshold at the end of the bed. "And you can give me a back rub later if you truly want." He heaved his shoulders gently in a shrug as he shifted a pillow under his head and ribs so he could watch Hawke's work, a small and barely noticeable smirk tugging at his lips. He wouldn't be opposed to letting the mage's hands wander further if he desired to massage his legs as well, the taunt muscles still aching in the remnants of the Bone Pit affair.

Perhaps then he might be able to finally recover from that debacle.

* * *

 

A small hum escaped his lips as he followed the elf to his bedside, his brow quirking as he couldn't help but be amused by the implications of the elf's words. It was almost as if Fenris was making it too easy for him to use his arsenal of bad puns and even worse pick-up lines. But all he did was throw the warrior a bemused glance as he sat himself down in such a way that he was facing the elf as well, his legs crossed underneath him as he pulled tanned feet on top of his lap.

"I regret even asking," he quipped and brought out a small bottle from within his pockets. Another of his mother's products, a luxury she couldn't bear to part with; peach-scented oil. The Hawke siblings had grown up on the stuff and even a whiff of the stuff was enough to remind the mage of the fights they've got into as a child for smelling like peaches all the time. The situation changed when they got older however, the sweet tangy smell attracting attention from both men and women in a positive way.

This particular bottle wasn't that sweet however; cinammon gave it a spicy tang. It was one blend the mage himself preferred, and his mother had given in and made his own supply of the stuff. Anders had helped come up with a way to infuse elfroot in the oil, the plant's revitalizing effect a blessing on sore muscles.

Hawke poured a small amount in his hands and rubbed them together to warm the oil. In the brief intervention, he took the time to admire Fenris as he lounged about like a cat. Armor shed, and tantalizingly dressed even in battle worn clothes; the elf was a sight to behold. His shirt was sculpted to him which left little to the imagination; and if the tunic was considered tight, his pants were like second skin. Taking care not to stare at some parts too long, Hawke ran an appreciative eye from the elf's feet to his face where a pair of almost teasing green eyes met his stare.

"You intend to work me to the bone then?" Hawke asked as he finally cupped one heel of the elf's foot. Fenris was always barefoot, an observation that Hawke had always wanted to question. And thus, his heel had hardened, the pads of his feet only a tiny bit softer. The pair were in good condition however, and though there were minute cracks along the heel, it didn't look as if any were bleeding or raw. The oil was quickly absorbed into the flesh, turning it malleable enough for Hawke to press and form with his fingers. He cupped a limb between his hands and pressed his thumbs into the flesh, digging deep as he swept the digits from the arch to the balls of his foot. Working his hands and fingers along with the oil until Fenris was all but putty under his ministrations.

He moved on to the elf's toes as well, though there wasn't much to do there save give the digits a crack to ease the tension from the joints. He concentrated on massaging the wolf's heel and ankle instead, fully aware just how overworked they've been in the last few days. The same treatment was given towards the other foot; and by the time Hawke was finished, both feet were stepped with the smell of peaches, cinnamon and the minty bite of elfroot. The elf had a smug lazy look in his eyes that had Hawke scoffing as he stretched his arms out.

"Enjoy it while you can, bastard. I don't intend to lose any more games to you in the future," he chided good-naturedly and leaned back on his palms. "But since we're doing this anyway, would you like me to work on your legs as well? I'm not selling my services, despite how marvellous my fingers may be... But you probably have the tightest muscles I've seen on a man. A good massage would definitely do you wonders."

If he could, he would have given himself a pat on the back for his genius. It was an intimate offer especially with someone as high-strung as Fenris. But somehow, the mage had made it sound as casual as he could. Muscles weren't the only tight thing on the elf however, and Hawke had a feeling he'd be more than happy to help him loosen up elsewhere.

* * *

 

Years spent on the run through wilderness and cities alike had seasoned his feet to even the most brittle of temperaments so it didn't surprise the warrior to hardly feel any of Hawke's rolls as he went about kneading the oil into his hardened skin. The abuse he had suffered by running barefoot had caused his nerves to numb somewhat, the faint prickle of fingers barely discernible as the elf found his eyes closing. The scented oil was a nice touch though it left many questions prodding through the elf's head, the exact use of the oil somewhat confounding. But as Hawke's fingers began to knead away the solid walls of thick durable flesh he found his skin responding. Fenris was in awe as he found the sensations return, the mage's fingers causing pressure in all the right places.

There was some irony in this situation as the mage continued to rub and roll the oil into his taunt flesh, the muscles and skin slowly surrendering to his touch. Fenris himself had often massaged feet himself back in the Tevinter Imperium, his former master Danarius using Fenris's calloused fingers to his advantage in an arsenal of different ways. One of them was to rub the mage's feet when he felt weary. He wasn't a young man and with his growing age Danarius discovered more aches and pains running through his body being a common occurrence. He re-countered the many times he had been called into the man's bedroom wearing nothing but a loincloth, his tanned muscles shimmering with a thin coat of oil. "Come, my pet." The magister had called out to him, leaning back against the bed with his feet propped up in preparation as his eyes cast over Fenris hungrily. Obediently Fenris followed his master's command, his body twitching under the dirty glances the old man would give him as he drank in his body.

He too felt like a magister as he laid here, his eyes watching with curiosity as his feet unwound with each of Hawke's touches until his skin became but putty in his hands. Maker it felt good and the elf had to suppress a groan more than once as the mage went about rubbing more of the oil into the skin, his pours soaking in the exotic coating. Fenris could sense the cracks and minor cuts in his feet healing gently as the elfroot took effect, the aches of his joints releasing with each crack of his toes. Hawke truly had a magical touch in more ways than one and the slave was thankful the mage hadn't pulled out of giving himself to the warrior for the day.

"Hmm?" He felt rather sleepy as he had sat there indulging in Hawke's touches that he didn't realize the mage was addressing him. "Hah, we'll see." He said with a rather smug tone as he wriggled his toes to test their flexibility. The idea of going head to head with Hawke in another round of Wicked Grace was very appealing but if he knew his run of chance then the elf was bound to run out of it sooner or later. Lady Luck had decided to smile upon him last night and he knew he shouldn't try to take advantage of her again, the wolf doubting that either of them would get a clear shot of winning again with Isabela in the fray.

The mage had proposed on massaging the elf's legs, just as the elf had predicted subtly to himself before. It was either that man could read his mind or said lady luck was fluttering her lashes again. Generally Fenris was uncomfortable with people touching him, not because he was averted to physical contact but because he felt discomfort whenever anyone brushed against the lyrium. His feet were not riddled with the markings so it made the massage rather pleasant to enjoy. However, if Hawke was to recover the muscles in his legs then there would be no way to avoid the network of lyrium that ran like veins through his flesh. Was it truly worth the risk? The last thing the elf desired was to lash out at Hawke but if any pain was to be caused it would be entirely unintentional.

After a moment of hesitation the elf slowly pulled his feet away from Hawke's grasp so he could stand on the floor next of the bed. "I'll ask that you'll be careful, mage." Was his only warning to Hawke as his hands deftly went about undoing his belt. The clip went undone as the leather slid around his ankles in a halo. Fenris then untied the last bonds holding his leggings in place, the material stretching down his legs until all the elf was left dressed with was his vest and his undergarments. However the elf didn't intend on giving Hawke a view of his goods and had spun around before the mage could get an eyeful. Hawke was in for a different treat as Fenris lowered himself back onto the bed upon his stomach, his arms wrapping around the propped pillows as his legs drift towards the mage's lap.

The legs of the elf were lanky as Isabela had once put it, but now with the dark leggings out of the way the mage could clearly study the thick ropes of muscle running up and over the warrior's build. Lyrium faintly hummed in the darkness, running in intricate patterns and loops around the tightened lithe core. His calves were well pronounced, a sign that the elf was a strong runner, the muscles engorged and straining with faint veins. His thighs too were bulging yet still retaining that elven grace, lines and mounds clearly separating eachother in thin strokes and ripples. The vest Fenris wore got in the way of his ass, the material flowing down to the very top of the elf's thighs, denying him the view. However the lanky tanned legs were more than enough to ogle as they twitched faintly in anticipation, Fenris' cautious gaze being thrown over one of his shoulders.

* * *

 

He hadn't expect his offer be taken up, and had simply sat dumb as Fenris stripped those lovely pants of his off. Hawke had barely recovered before the elf was back on the bed, stretched out and waiting for Hawke to do his job. Although he was being watched by the wolf, that didn't mean that the mage held back on thoroughly appreciating the body before him.

"If Isabela can see us now..." the mage uttered without thinking before catching the elf's gaze in his own." You're a real sneaky elf, wrapping all this in leather," as he dribbled oil on the straining calves. Maker... they were hard as rocks.

Mindful of the elf's warning, Hawke took care not to stray too close to the lyrium markings. It made his job harder but thankfully, only a few branches of the intricate tattoo interlapped with his work. A he kneaded and pounded at knotted muscles, urging them to relax; the mage found himself following the silvery lines as they twisted and curled over each and every curve of the elf's body. The leather vest obstructed his view but the warning glare he'd received earlier stayed the mage's hands from 'accidentally' slipping in the oil.

If Fenris was relaxed then, he was utterly made of jelly by the time Hawke finished one of his legs. The lyrium was left untouched though the mage could feel them against his skin, the tiny hairs on his hand prickling at the proximity. He had often wondered what magic felt like to the elf, and had been clued in on his reactions. It would explain the elf's reactions every time spells were cast on him. And from what he'd gathered from their conversation about healing magic, there might be a difference in how the lyrium markings reacted to a particular mage's magic. Of course, Hawke had hoped that the elf had a particular preference in mages, mainly Hawke himself. But that was completely and utterly foolish thinking.

So he concentrated on the massage, his hands running over unmarked skin with gentle pressure. The vest was such a waste however, and though Hawke was itching to dip his hands underneath it, he kept the thought and action to himself. Just touching was obviously way past the elf's comfort zone, what with him jerking awkwardly every now and then. Therefore, despite his wish to extend the massage; Hawke made quick work of the remaining tensed muscles on the elf's legs.

"I hope it wasn't too painful," his voice laced by a tiny bit of worry. "I did try to avoid touching the tattoos as much as possible..." he left the sentence hanging as it is before throwing a questioning look at the elf. "Say, what do you feel exactly if I touched your markings? What does Anders' touch feels like? Merrill's? I've noticed before but you act more adversely to their spells than you do to mine."

And even as he spoke, Hawke removed himself from the bed and stretched his cramped legs. He would have loved working on the elf's back but that would hinge on how receptive Fenris is. Just doing his feet and legs had already bothered the elf so much. Hawke couldn't even fathom how the wolf would react had the mage urged him to just strip to his smalls.

* * *

 

"I'm surprised she hasn't tried to sneak in already." Fenris replied to Hawke's comment about Isabela finding the two as they were now. He had seen the woman giving him knowing looks, wriggling her eyebrows or purposely trying to push the elf into the mage when he was caught off guard. Of cause Fenris didn't appreciate the gesture and had not thought of Hawke in that manner until only a few days ago. But imagining the look on her face as she would walk in on them massaging and covered in oil would truly soil her panties, the idea leaving a small amused grin on the elf's lips.

"I thought the leather looked good on me." The elf jest lightly as he focused on the mage's movements. He didn't make jokes often but it was evident Fenris had a sense of humor beneath his broody exterior. The lyrium in his legs wriggled, itching and moving like fingers under his skin and thankfully Hawke moved to avoid them, his oiled hands carefully massaging around the tattoos, using them as waypoints. He didn't realize how tense his own legs were until the mage started to rub away at it, the muscles that threaded in knots slowly unwinding and lengthening, pooling around the raven's fingers steadily.

Fenris lowered his head into the pillow while watching the male's movement, the fingers of the raven lightly liquored in the peach scented oil that caused his muscles to ripple and shift with ease. Even the slight pinches of discomfort he felt from his markings were of little consequence to the pleasure and relief that washed over him with each roll of the man's digits. Isabela had spoken once of how Hawke had commented to her once about how well he was with his hands and the elf had disregarded believing it until now. Each movement was sincere and controlled, focused - the mage taking meticulous care to each detail with special consideration. They weren't the slim fingers of a woman, Hawke's touch slightly roughened as were his nails. The knuckles and build of the mage's hands were masculine and yet complimented with a surprising amount of skill; leaving the Tevinter's mind all but to wander to dangerous places.

The elf released a gentle groan as the massage session ceased, his legs circulating in fresh blood to cause his lyrium to jump in approval. He turned over to his side, hands disengaging from the pillow to lean down and grasp his pants and belt. He twisted his lower body so he could fight back into his leggings, his limbs kicking lazily as he pulled the material up and over his exposed skin. "No, it wasn't painful. It was fine." He turned around to lace the belt around his waist, a small smile of appreciation lifting his dark features.

Fenris turned to walk over toward the mantelpiece above the fire, reaching out to grab a bottle of unopened wine. He flipped the cork out, the wood spitting out the door to bounce across the landing as he took a swig for himself before handing the drink over to Hawke. Once delivered, the elf's fingers brushed out to grab another sweet roll, the combination of the Tevinter wine and peach glaze rather delightful against the palette. He paused to Hawke's inquiry, causing his brow to lower slightly. "It's painful," He answered rather bluntly, his hand reaching out to cradle the wine once more within his grasp. "Danarius took great pleasure in inflicting the markings and would use them as leverage for me to obey him." He paused, the wine stuck halfway between his lips as he thought of how to explain the matter.

"It is...different for each person. At first all start as pain, some then turning to discomfort, others to agony. Sometimes they can...channel a pleasant hum. It is rare when that happens though and the only ones that have triggered it were non magical users; Courtesans. "He recounted another memory, fingers of feminine beauty gliding down his chest as the bed rocked hard beneath them, the warmth of the woman's inner thighs beating against his hips with each thrust. When he could accumulate enough gold, which was rare, he would indulge in a pleasure house or two and though at first the touches had been painful, he was delighted to feel such feelings abate, allowing himself to swim through the depths of pleasure even if it was for but a moment of time.

He tilt the bottle once more to his lips, allowing the liquid to thin down his throat before offering it back to the raven with a glance. "The healer causes discomfort. The lyrium can sense the spirit or demon whichever inside him, causing the markings to burn and prickle, like oil under the sun. Merril… I wouldn't even let her touch me if I could. Her magic is by far the most malevolent. Even if she may use non-blood magic, the taint of demons is even stronger with her."

He moved to adjust the wood in the fireplace with a set of prongs, the ashes barely alight. The mansion was also running low on firewood which meant he would either have to find a merchant or destroy more furniture within the estate to make up for his losses. "Yours is also discomforting, but there is an air about it that is soothing. Yours is the only kind I would welcome; perhaps because you remain vigilant to being opposed to corruption. The others can rot for all I can care."

* * *

 

Hawke mulled the elf's words over in his head even as his face fell at the sight of the wine bottle. There goes his decision to stay sober, out of the room and bouncing down the landing, along with the cork. He was pretty sure that this had been the most candid Fenris had ever been with him, and the mage was grateful. Just a few days ago he'd been convinced that there was no hope for him in regards to the wolf. But the admission, however bitter; made the mage's spirit soar.

"I'll take better care in the future then. Had I known earlier how magic affects your markings, I could've spared you some discomfort, if not all," the mage said and got to his feet, wiping his oiled hands on a rag. His curiosity sated for the moment, Hawke looked around him; eyes drifting towards the rotting bodies Fenris had for decor. He knew for a fact that there were a dozen more men downstairs, and who knows what kind of filth the demons had left in their trails.

"Well, the house isn't going to clean itself. Why don't you start from the top and we'll meet in the entry," he said and readied himself for an afternoon of hard and dirty work. The mage made his way downstairs to the basement, intent on cleaning from bottom-up. It also meant that he can go crazy on the corpses with his magic if something disgusting slithered at him. The mabari, who obviously preferred the elf to his owner; stayed behind and helped drag the bodies down.

In the basement, Hawke faced an insurmountable task. Humid and wet, the basement was no place to store the bodies in, a thriving city of maggots lived within the husks eating the dead flesh from within even as rats feasted on the outside. Though he was used to bodies and battles, having killed men for the job before; the sight of so many men piled up, some of them slaves; brought disquiet upon the mage. Since the ones in the lower rooms were already piled together, Hawke merely set them on fire, blanching as the stench of burning meat filled the underground room. He escaped to the stairs and watched from safety in order to make sure that the fire did not spread.

He moved to the other rooms then, dragging bodies after bodies to a growing pile in the center of the house. Thankfully, though the corpses were half-rotting, they were at least dry and not as disturbing as the ones in the basement. He saw Fenris every now and then, hauling his own stack of bodies. Siruis popped up from the upper floors with his own finds. Only when the mage had scoured through every room, sometimes forcing the lock of several closets; did he stop to take a breather. As he waited for the elf to finish upstairs, the door opened and Varric popped his head in.

The dwarf's surprised look at the sight of so many corpses welcoming him made the mage laugh as he went round to draw Varric in. It was a sight indeed; some of the corpses had died mid-scream, their faces now staring at the dwarf and the human in eternal anguish.

"Fenris hired a concierge," the mage said in between chuckles as the dwarf hurriedly closed the door behind him. Anyone peering in over Varric's short stature would have seen an eyeful, and would have called the guards, even the templars; upon them.

"Maker, Hawke," the dwarf said in a revolted tone. "Seeing these blokes on their own were already bad enough, and now you had to throw them a party?" he said and poked his foot against the pile. The action disturbed some of the bodies on top and made some of the corpses shift towards the dwarf.

"Careful, I'm not digging you out if you get yourself buried under." the mage muttered even as he dragged Varric back by his collar. "Why'd you come to visit anyway?"

"Some friend you are," the rogue retorted. "If you must know, I came for the elf. With most of us gone in the next few weeks, he might have some problems if that magister shows up. I have some of my contacts on a lookout for anything that smells, looks, and sounds like Tevinter. It will give the elf time to prepare himself and gather the rest of the gang if something does happen."

"Aw, do I see a soft spot in all that chest hair? Something you want to confess to Varric? Perhaps a penchant for elves? I do see you spending a lot of your valuable time with Merril," the mage teased which only earned him an amused chuckle from the dwarf.

"You don't see me climbing into the elf's lap, do you Hawke? You can't fool a Tethras... well except Bartrand and that's because he's a git." Ooh, point to Varric Tethras.

"Anyway, pass the message on to Broody, will you? I'm late for a meeting with some of my eyes and ears," the dwarf didn't even wait for Fenris though they could hear the elf labouring upstairs. Probably scared of getting roped into cleaning duties, but Hawke was sure to pass the message on. Almost as though he'd just been waiting for Varric to leave, Fenris showed up on the upstairs landing, Siruis at his heels as the two hefted the last of the bodies down.

"Varric came by," the mage started and relayed the message to Fenris.

* * *

 

The bound in his step felt renewed as he lugged the corpses up and down the stairs. Fenris was more than grateful that Hawke had seen their deal through and though the scene of death and carnage had not bothered him, it still felt good to put them to rest. The mansion wasn't his home and neither was Kirkwall but in the weeks and months he had spent staying here, he found more and more reasons to remain. He had accumulated a small band of personnel who were willing to assist him, some against their will. He had a roof over his head, one that was crumbling and rotting with each day yet it still served its purpose. And he had found someone who he thought could be a reliable friend. He had come to Kirkwall expecting to stay for only a short while, his plans having him en route to Fereldan but with pirates swarming the sea to take easy pickings, he was forced to delay the trip.

Ash rolled out from the doorway leading to the lower reaches of the mansion, lights pinning sharp shadows against the walls as the elf felt Hawke's magic at work, the smell of singed hair and burnt flesh whisking through the manor. For once Fenris agreed it would be the best method of destroying the evidence of whatever horrific event had occurred here. The fugitive guessed that the magister had demanded a mass slaughter in order to summon the vile demons and abominations that had faced off against them so many weeks ago. All of which were unwilling participants, their bodies frozen in time at the pinnacle of agony.

It was obvious that even though the shades had been cast away to the depths of the fade that the mansion was still haunted. Fenris had felt the malicious presences looming from between rooms at certain times of the night, objects floating entirely on their lonesome, sometimes paintings flying off the wall to bat against the back of the elf's head as he went about training. It would be good to perhaps give the restless energies that still stirred here some reprieve, meaning that the elf could finally get a decent night's sleep without waking to interruption. It was part of the reason he indulged in the wine so often, the alcohol whisking him away to the land of dreams far easier than his ceaseless mind would. His paranoia often got the better of him, the dark circles under his eyes a constant reminder to those around him just how little fuel the elf truly ran on.

Siruis had been of good help, the dog constantly tailing behind the elf to drag piles of bone or the occasional severed limb to add to the overgrowing mound. During the clean-up of the mansion the elf had heard the front door open and close rather abruptly, the warm tone of the dwarf bantering with Hawke's against the inner sanctum. Part of him was still lightly bothered over the fact the rogue had divulged his rather awkward morning ritual to the rest of the group. Fenris carried grudges quite openly but if it wasn't for the comment then perhaps it wouldn't have given him the window of opportunity to turn Hawke in his favor.

"What did he have to say?" Fenris inquired as he added the last of the rotting corpses to the pile, his hands feeling clammy under the touch of dead flesh. He had half expected the mabari to roll in the bodies, the stench strong enough to appeal to any canine though he judged Siruis to be more thoughtful of his actions. He pulled back to a safe distance to allow the mage to engulf the corpses in a wall of flame. If the neighbours complained about the smell then Fenris would simply pass it off as a family banquet gone wrong. The mansion was too high up to have any eyes pry through the windows.

The fire sprung up over the corpses rather quickly, the enchanted flames spurning out of the mage's fingertips as he covered the remains in a molten curtain. The mabari barked happily as he made rounds around the fire in a content trot, the elf choosing to lean back against the wall to watch the spectacle. He should have known that the dwarf would go behind his back to organise someone to cover his ass, not that his ass truly needed to be covered. The elf was quite adept at listening out for hints of change albeit he lacked the people skills to indulge in the conversations associated with it.

Perhaps it was for the best, as long as it didn't mean he would be placed in debt with yet another company or party of some fashion. If shit truly hit the fan then he had people to rely on. But in the month Hawke would be absent he would remain low, even more than he normally would. He would keep his activities hidden and his mansion well stocked so he could stay indoors for longer periods of time. That should be enough to keep him out of trouble while allowing his small allowance of coin to dig up information on Danarius' whereabouts.

"What do you plan to do once you come back?" Fenris asked cautiously, his gaze still locked with the pillar of searing flames. "Your brother mentioned it would get you both rich so what will make of yourself with so much coin to throw around?" He had tried to keep his comments optimistic for Hawke's sake though the pit forming within his belly told him that the journey was not going to end with Hawke sunny side up. It wasn't any of his business to pry into the mage's affairs either. He had asked it simply to sate his curiosity and to perhaps give himself some reassurance. If Hawke was to die or become gravely injured in the Deep Roads then it would be disheartening news to the elf. At least he knew how to make preparations so that if the grave news did meet his ears he could plot out his next move.

He would probably stay in Kirkwall a little longer and wait it out. Perhaps Danarius would still return and try to reclaim his mansion from the Tevinter's hands. Even with Hawke out of the picture the elf still had Varric, Aveline and Sebastian as regular contacts.

* * *

 

The question was one that Carver had once asked, way before they've even heard of the expedition. It was also one that Hawke considered both crucial and selfish. Important because the gold would set his mother for life and take the heat off their backs for a long enough time. He'd made plans to recover the old Amell estate that Gamlen had used to pay for his debts. He was the head of the family now and it was the least he can do to make his mother happy. Gold also kept the templars away from their doorstep; greased hands can do many favors.

"I'd like to take the family home back, if I could. Carver and I have recovered our grandfather's will; but I doubt the Viscount would simply hand the place over just because it was unfair to Mother." He was musing his thoughts out loud for Fenris to hear as the two leaned against the far wall, eyes on the burning pile of bodies.

"It'd mean we'd be neighbours and that I won't have to climb those damn stairs every time I come over for a drink, or my training," Grey flickered towards Fenris as the mage buried his hands in his pocket; wistfully saying, "You do remember, right? Offering me lessons in fighting?" Now there was a smile on his lips as he peered through the elf's bangs, searching the green depths for a reaction.

"Though, I guess we'd have to put it off till I get back from the Deep Roads. As much as I'd want to beat Carver down for once in a fistfight, I still would like to leave and return in one piece," He was outrightly chuckling now as he imagined himself covered in bruises even before he reached their goal and returning with even more bruises. Hawke always was a glutton for punishment.

It was such a shame really, that he couldn't bring Fenris with him to the tunnels. The elf would have been more than welcome, a hundredfold more than Carver is. A better fighter, better personality, and a fiery temper to boot; Hawke could imagine no-one better to bring with them below ground as darkspawn surrounds them. The fact that the elf was also eye-candy was merely an incentive.

"But I don't really see anything changing even if I do return with treasure. Deeper pockets perhaps and less templars on my back. But it'd all still be the same. I'm not thinking of stopping my activities any time soon which means that there'll be no lack of gangs and assassins after my ass."

A frown marred the mage's brow as he turned his attention towards Fenris. The fire was down to small one, magic fuelling its heat and speed as the red tongues burned through flesh like paper. Siruis was doing a good job as fire keeper, pushing fallen parts into the flame if they fell too far.

"Why? Did you think I'd be too good for everyone else if I become rich?" Humour was laced into the mage's words, as though the very image itself made him laugh. "Carver maybe, but I'll knock him in place if he does. But I don't see myself associating with Hightown, I'm more at ease in the Hanged Man, drinking stale wine and bitter ale. And here, of course; helping you drain your reserves of wine and corpses."

"Now, enough of this. I've coin to spare and cards in my pockets. You've got the wine and my mother's goodie basket. Do you want to play another hand of wicked grace?"

* * *

 

Hawke's revival of the family estate was a wise investment, especially since the elf had witnessed for himself just how troubled Leandra seemed over the issue. She was a pleasant woman albeit a bit nosy. If Fenris could remember what his mother was like he would have liked to have thought that she would have been similar to Hawke's; a woman who spoke her mind, worked independently and warm toward those she cared about. She seemed a little suspicious about the fugitive when she first laid eyes on him but had gradually warmed up to him as Hawke had shown he wasn't of any clear threat.

The idea of them becoming neighbours was a relishing thought; perhaps they would be able to share company more often. "Wh-what?" Fenris stuttered toward the comment about teaching the male hand to hand combat. Since when did he promise that? His mind backtracked through the last few days, too many drunken encounters making the list. Which one of them had he scampered to such a deal? Fenris could only subtly frown as he tried to make sense of the mess the last few days had been. After the Bone Pit and he had really let himself go. Perhaps that concussion had affected more than previously thought.

"I don't recall...But I'll consider it if you're still willing." The elf admitted slyly. Had he really stick his foot in his own mouth like that? Not that he was truly against teaching Hawke, but his drunken self had obviously thought the more time they spent together the merrier. Damn that dream, it really had opened too many doors for him in regards to Hawke's interest.

His eyes lifted to catch Hawke's, his expression slightly unguarded as the man embellished him in one of those warm smiles that seemed to be infectious. "It's not that. I just didn't picture you to be the kind of man to indulge in luxuries..." Hawke was a grounded individual and no matter how much he jested and joked, it was clear that he had an air of normality to him. Fenris found the news welcoming but it remained to be seen if the mage would truly give into a life of sloth. His brother would be one to take advantage and make his life easy. If Hawke did buy a home then the elf hoped that he remained a man true to his word; one that got deeds done and kept his toe in line. He wouldn't want the raven to think he could start transgressing to blood magic now that the templars would be of old news to him.

"I wouldn't miss it. Not without you of course." The smirk tugged the elf's lips into a smirk as the two of them and the mabari travelled to the upper tier of the mansion to partake in one last game for old times' sake; the pile of corpses all but ash and brittle bone by the time they were done.

The days spent after Hawke's visits were busy ones. Fenris had taken all the coin he had earned from working with Hawke and had gone out to stock the mansion as so planned. He didn't intend on leaving it for some time and so during the early hours of the evening he would travel to Lowtown to speak with Anso. The dwarf was less jumpy from the last time they had met and he was more than willing to help the elf out again. This time he paid the dwarf and had asked that he bring certain produce to the mansion when his duties allowed. The elf couldn't write nor read so he had to trust Anso to make the right choices. Anso could move and walk through the districts of Kirkwall inconspicuously whereas Fenris would draw unwanted attention and possibly the eyes of would-be captors.

A day or two passed and Anso had been busy, collecting the materials and goods needed to keep Fenris in hiding. The warrior didn't enjoy doing such a task, he would rather face the slavers head on but he knew it would be dangerous without a healer to run to or Hawke to organise a counter attack. Varric had mentioned that he had had an ear to the ground incase anything sounded suspicious which eased the elf only a little. Anso had arrived that evening with a wagon in toe, the two of them unloading the shipment of goods into the manor.

Water, wine, bread, firewood, apples, potions, poisons; the usual stock were all piled. The dwarf had been generous on the wine and Fenris was more than pleased that the cellar looked mildly healthy again. The two of them had hung back for casual drinks, the dwarf pleased about how the elf had made new friends with his contacts. The elf had thanked Anso a second time, after all, if it wasn't for the dwarf then he wouldn't even be within this manor in the first place nor without such good company. He had offered to give the dwarf all his coin but Anso had reassured he was already paid in full for the mission.

The remaining days were spent re-arming the manor with new traps. Hawke had unlocked many of the doors that had previously been sealed and it slightly vexed the elf to know that the mansion was more open to attack with no real line of defense. And so he went about re-closing the rooms that he never set foot because the ceiling and walls were caving in. He had sealed them shut quite effectively, the elf going about jamming the doors with splinters of wood and metal pincers which he hammered into the wall himself. Fenris then moved onto the main suite leading to his bedroom and had tied various empty bottles around the tops of doors so if any were to open it would cause a noise loud enough to bring the elf out of his sleep. The last trap had been laid near the front door, poisonous barbs being tied against the wall that could be released with the flick of a switch. However the manor lacked such a switch and had made the trigger something obvious and taunting to a mage should one wander into the manor; a shiny mound of lyrium.

The glorious rock sat atop a table and to the untrained eye it was most certainly inviting to any magic user. They would be drawn to it like flies but upon touching the cluster it would trigger off the poisonous barbs behind them. The poison was lethal but entirely curable, the elf making a mental note to warn Hawke or anyone else that would come in to avoid touching the bait.

And now all manner of preparation had lead him to this; the day that the expedition for the Deep Roads would depart. Fenris had debated whether he wanted to go see Hawke off or remain in his manor but eventually decided that Hawke might have want to bid his farewells. With a bottle of Agregio Pavali in hand the elf had securely closed the door behind him before making his way down through Hightown's tiers to intercept the expedition before they would head off. The stares and glares he got from the nobles and merchants as he made way through the districts amused him, the wind tousling against his stark white hair and freshened vest.

Fenris found the expedition already set to leave; several wagons dotting around the open courtyard packed and roped down. Most of the members were dwarves, some lined in tattoos that represented their ties with the Merchant's Guild or casts. A few humans were spotted here and there, acting as muscle as they loaded the last of the carts with a barrel of what seemed to be fermented turnips. The food was almost all preserved to last the harrowing trek. Other carts were brimming with mining equipment; axes, shovels and what seemed to be a barrel of explosive powder securely locked behind metal chains. Varric gave a wave to the elf as he joined them, his attention still drawn toward his lesser half of a sibling as they eyed down the Deep Road map Anders had provided them with, their lips moving quickly as they argued about what opening to take.

The warrior moved aside as a group of dwarves bustled past carrying what seemed to be an overly sized cheese wheel, Fenris finding Hawke on the other side of the courtyard bantering between Anders and Carver. Carver looked like a kid in a candy shop, the excitement shining in his eyes as his hands fixed the loose strands of his boots. Leandra had joined her children, the mother looking rather worried and pale as she stood there watching the two Hawke brothers make their last preparations. Fenris began to doubt coming here in the first place with too many eyes and bodies moving about to properly get a good move or word in.

He was about to turn back around when he felt a heavy pat against his lower back, Varric giving him an eager grin as he walked over to Hawke, allowing Fenris to skirt along behind without seeming too awkward. "We're leaving at noon so it's time to say your goodbyes. I'll be over by Bartrand when you're ready to go." And with that the dwarf departed to go retrieve the map from his greedy brother, a curious glance being cast in Fenris' direction. Varric had looked at him like another story was being scribbled away in that brain of his, confounding the elf slightly. What did he see that Fenris couldn't?

"Here," Fenris had motioned to Hawke as he stepped forward to place the Agreggio Pavali into his hands. "As a last toast to your expedition." It wasn't much but if he knew Hawke then it would be known that the drink on the trip wouldn't be entirely high standard. It was a gesture of good will, one that wasn't entirely lost on the apostate as Anders cast a suspicious glance toward the elf. Why everyone was intent on giving Fenris strange looks today he didn't know.

* * *

 

The bottle of wine was a sight for sore eyes, its bearer an even more than welcome sight. The mage had been casting his eyes out since they've arrived, noting how his all of friends and family had turned up to watch the expedition depart. Well, all of his friends save a certain elf. Varric had seen him swivelling his head more than once and Anders had one too many times called his attention back whenever it wandered off. Carver merely stared at him in amusement, the younger Hawke in such a good mood that he made little to no jest about his brother.

"You've read my mind exactly," he said grinning as he slipped the wine into his own pack. Bartrand hadn't exactly prioritized the humans in his packing; as such most of the food and drink they brought were catered to dwarven tastes. Nugs especially were to be brought down live as to ensure their freshness. Hawke couldn't claim to have had nug before but considering that they looked like pigs, the mage hoped they'd taste the same.

There was so much more that the mage wished to say, but the hour was upon them and Bartrand's voice was calling their attention so all Hawke could do was grip the elf's hand even with the gauntlets digging into his palm. Not the best goodbye in any terms, but one that the mage had to make do with.

"See you..."

 


	5. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers. In this chapter we held an encounter that we felt should have happened at some point in the game. Maker knew how much I wanted Fenris to punch that mage's face in (sorry Anders supporters!). And as such, this one is a tad dramatic. The level of angst continues to climb and Fenris is beginning to find his denial in his awakening lust for the raven to be disbelieving. Will things recover or will they continue to crash and burn? You'll just have to find out.  
> ~Aaerowyn

Leandra saw her two boys off, her heart almost breaking as they disappeared from view. Hawke's friends had turned up to give their well-wishes and even Gamlen had managed to stay sober long enough to join Leandra in her watch. It was with her prayers that she sent both her sons off to what would certainly be a fruitful if not dangerous adventure.

The Deep Roads were exactly as Hawke had envisioned them, if not a tad bit higher and wider. And though the group had no wish to spend their lives under dense rock, they were still able to admire the ingenuity and creativity the dwarves of old had poured into what used to be their homes. Everyone was having a pleasant time, no darkspawn, clear roads and merry company even with their racial biases and doubts. That is, until the group ran into a blockade. Bartrand had been furious, going as far as to blame Anders for his incorrect maps. The healer was quick to defend himself, saying that for a dwarf; Bartrand sure knew nothing about how cave-ins worked. Caves give in and the Grey Wardens would have made their way around it just fine.

And in this case, it meant that Hawke and company had to look for a safe way around it. After going through what seemed like hundreds of twists and turns, the group had chanced upon Bodahn's missing son, Sandal. It had been one mystifying point in their travel, mind you. What with the newly frozen ogre looming over the young dwarf whose mere explanation of 'enchantment!' merely confused Hawke more.

So they sent the boy back, the way clear after they've battled their way through. Then they continued on, looking for Bartrand's road to riches. With Anders in the group, they were able to skirt around small pockets of darkspawn. Those that they can't bypass, they killed. There've been many close calls, and too many wounds, a fight with an ogre in a small room and even a dragon with its spawn. It took them quite some time to find their circuit, and they received nothing but complaints when they returned. Varric had been near pissed then; Bianca cocked as his ass of a brother ordered the rest of the men through. What rest for the party they had to take in brief intervals, for the carts would sometimes get stuck in ditches or needed help going over broken flagstones. Unsung heroes they were, but the group pestered on.

It was just over two weeks in when they found a promising thaig. It was unlike any they've seen before. Crafted lyrium lined the walls like beacons in the dark, blue glow surrendering to red. Even Bartrand had gaped, noting how the thaig looked untouched by both darkspawn and dwarven hands. The deeper they went, the more alien and promising the place looked until finally one of the older dwarves claimed it to be the oldest architecture by the dwarves.

And even that was questioned, for statues and temples abound instead of monuments to the dwarven Paragons of old. There was also an abundance of magic-created items, some so old that no one knew what it used to be. A red glow suffused the place, the colour turning everything eerie; playing tricks in one's periphery. Hawke could not help but adopt one of Fenris' traits, his head swivelling over his shoulder whenever he thought he heard, saw or felt something.

The turnabout came much later, as Hawke and his gang were exploring the thaig. They've been walking around clearing up the tunnels of shades and golems, a new addition to Hawke's list of 'things that tried to kill him'. The shades were a mystery as well, for in no part of their journey had the group ran into any dwarven mage, save for the questionable Sandal. Anders had said that it might have to do with the Veil, but none of them were too keen to investigate.

And then they found the idol, made of pure lyrium and glowing eerie red. The mages could feel their skin crawling, their magic craving but their minds rebelling. Bartrand had shown up not a moment too soon, and once the idol was in his hands, the bastard had shown his true colours; trapping Hawke and even his own brother inside the room. Hawke had never seen Varric that livid before, his dwarven temper rearing its head despite being born on the surface. Had the door been made of paper, Hawke was sure that Bartrand would have been minced meat by now.

So they searched for a way out, and thankfully found one. The path went deeper down into the thaig, and for some time they thought they were going to die in that crypt, betrayed and alone as spirits feasted on their bodies. There were odd things about in that crypt, shades and wraiths in a body of crumbling stone. The party defeated hordes of the things, until one started speaking.

The chatty one turned out to be a demon, and he called the others profanes. It also said that it was a hunger demon and that it would be more than happy to send Hawke and his party along their way, even offering them an exit; if they left him and his feast alone. The mage had of course sputtered in indignation and refused the thing outright, triggering another fight that they bore through.

And soon they encountered the monolith, a giant hulking version of the profane that took insult in Hawke's appearance. The thing had been a pain to kill, tough and powerful enough that Hawke nearly ran out of potions. It also had an extremely painful attack that had nearly decimated the party until Varric pointed out the stone pillars surrounding its nest. So they flocked behind cover whenever the wraith let out one of its major attacks.

Finally, the monstrosity lay dead, and the treasure sat waiting. All seemed well, until Carver faltered. Hawke was immediately by his brother's side, worry etched into his already troubled face. Anders brought the news down gently, though the elder brother had suspected it all along. Carver had the Taint. He'd been at the forefront of every fight, baying the demons from reaching the rest of the party. Anders had kept am arcane shield up, but somehow during the numerous wearying fights, it must have failed. And the boy had been on his best for days, weeks even; he rarely got into any fights with Hawke. Perhaps over the course of a few days, the boys had bonded even more than they did their whole life. Or maybe it was because of the unfamiliar surroundings and the danger constantly lurking around them, but Carver had been someone they've relied on. Had he fallen, there was no way any of the mages or even the dwarven archer would have survived.

It was a tough choice, especially for Hawke. Carver was in no state to decide, so his brother made the call. They sought out the Grey Wardens in the area and left the young warrior in their care. What should have been a happy reunion was turned into a sad farewell as Hawke, Anders and I returned here. We're thousands of gold richer, but both Hawke and I are a brother short..."

The tankard was placed on the table with a resounding clunk as everyone, Merril, Aveline, Sebastian, and Fenris sat in silence. Despite the laughter and merriment drifting in from downstairs, the dwarf's suite had turned into a tomb, as they all tried to process what they'd heard.

Hawke and what was rest of his group returned to Kirkwall last night. The news spread when someone saw them walking through Lowtown and by morning, almost everyone knew that the expedition was back. Those who stayed behind quickly sought out the dwarf for the story of their adventures. They've been expecting to see the dwarf in the middle of getting drunk in celebration, not mourning. Despite his reputation for spinning the wildest of stories, Varric's tale had curiously been clean-cut and precise, as though the dwarf did not believe that the story needed any editing. He will most likely spin the threads some more in more impersonal company, but the ones listening to him now deserved the truth.

No-one had seen Anders or Hawke, the healer locked up in his clinic in Darktown, the other merely missing, even from Gamlen's home. Those who cared to check however, were driven off by the extremely irate man, whose eyes looked red-rimmed from either mead or crying, maybe both. Those who persisted were chased away by a large dog guarding the door.

One after the other the group filtered out. Carver had been a pain, but he had his shining moments. Merril was outright sobbing as Aveline walked her to the alienage. Sebastian returned to the chantry to offer his prayers for their missing friend. And Isabela, she left in silence though her voice was soon heard in the lower bar, calling for rounds as she drank by herself.

"He's in the Amell estate," Varric suddenly said, as Fenris stood to leave. The elf had stayed back, due mostly to the dwarf's piercing stare. "The Viscount returned the house to them just before we got here. He's there now, working and cleaning to make it 'liveable', he said. He wants Carver to see the true beauty of the old Amells... if and when he survives the Joining."

He had no idea how many hours had passed since they arrived. It had been dark though, but now there was light filtering in from the windows. He had made his way to Gamlen's house and had been welcomed in by his mother's relieved face, only to watch it fall as she saw how she's missing another son. How she cried then, only to round up on Hawke and blame him. The mage had stood staring, words caught in his throat as Gamlen came to usher Leandra to a chair. The older man had then thrusted the key into Hawke's hand and had told him to leave them alone for a while.

And so here he was, sequestered in the largely untouched library of the old Amell estate, smuggler bodies burning in a dying pyre in the entryway. He was almost hoping for more smugglers to disturb him when he heard the door creak open.

* * *

 

Fenris had sat in complete and utter silence as Varric had recounted over the events that had transpired the past month, his hand occasionally moving to lift a tankard to his lips. What a mess the expedition had become. He had wondered how Varric managed to keep calm as he retold of Bartrand's betrayal, the elf's temper causing surges of blood to rush to his head with each detail. How Hawke and his company had managed to get out of the Deep Roads escaped the elf, his mind still reeling with foul thoughts. Dwarven greed had always compromised good deals but to think that the Tethras sibling would stab his own brother in the back and leave them all to perish...

Everyone at the table seemed to hold the same reaction, their faces downcast and gloomy, ale tipping between their fingers. Not only had the betrayal cost them time but it had also cost Carver's life. It wasn't the worst story Fenris had heard, his own life in particular facing much harsher obstacles. But this was not his life, it was his companions and it still bothered the former slave to some degree to think that the highlight of their stay in Kirkwall had ended in tears.

"Bastard..." Aveline cursed under her breath as she fumbled with her own drink, trying to make sense of the matter. Sebastian was quiet but his eyes betrayed his thoughts, silent prayers muttering between his lips. Merril's eyes were welling up in tears, clear droplets spilling over her cheeks as she shakily consumed her own fodder for the night. Isabela consoled the elf by pulling her close, rubbing her back gentle circles. Fenris was the only one that wasn't reacting, his indifferent stature and neutral expression hiding away all emotion. It wasn't exactly his strong point to feel sympathetic, his eyes merely glaring an impassive gaze into the table before him.

The weeks spent without Hawke's company had been rather uneventful. Varric and Aveline had dropped by to keep the elf updated on slaver activity and to make sure he was well. Other than that, everything was unusually quiet. The elf had even gone out on his own to track down a group of slavers he knew were operating in Hightown at late hours and had dispatched them with the help of Kirkwall's guard. He had hoped to gather information to see if Danarius was involved but yet again the case had gone cold. So he spent his time doing what he did best and trained in the vicinity of the mansion; swinging his sword and keeping his body in shape. He wouldn't allow the stagnant period to waste away at him and so his days were filled with a certain routine; train, exercise, drink and repeat. More than often his mind wandered on the topic of Hawke, wondering if the mage had struck gold or landed himself into the abyss.

Crevasse was a light term but judging from Varric's tone it seemed that the mage was a mess. Even that abomination Anders had been missing ever since they returned back to Kirkwall; locking himself up in Darktown away from prying eyes. But even with the seed of dread spread throughout the expedition's tale, at least they had not come away empty handed. Apparently the treasure they had found in the monster's lair was worth a fortune and each had hauled as much of it as they could. Most of it was currently in Varric's suite, the gold shimmering out of the elf's peripheral in large bulging sacks. The dwarf would have to guard it well and planned on selling it out respective buyers as soon as tomorrow. How they had smuggled it into the tavern without anyone noticing was an impossible feat they had achieved but the elf had guessed it was through a secret entrance. Bianca was resting upon the table facing the doorway, ready to strike if anyone dared to try take a piece of the prize.

With the cloud of dread still looming like a dark shadow, the party disbanded and headed out with heads low. Fenris still sat in his chair, too many thoughts swirling around his mind as he tried to fathom on what to do. However, it seemed that Varric decided for him as he found the dwarf addressing him, his body coming to stand with a forced push. So Hawke had already got the viscount's approval to move in and apparently was already cleaning. Fenris hadn't set foot in the manor or its underlying tunnels of cellars but judging from the crest Hawke had once shown then the estate would be a luxurious suite once it was cleaned of the slaver's clutches.

"If you require storage you are welcome to use the cellar." It was an offer for reprieve and Varric was aware the elf wasn't materialistic so storing at least some of the treasure in his manor was an open offer, especially since the elf kept guard over the mansion like a gargoyle and would probably be a better line of defence than any hired goon would. With a light flick of his hand the elf then departed and set way for Hightown, determined to at least try offer some consolidation for the man he had come to care about.

Kirkwall moved in a blur as the elf carried him up the flights of stairs as if they were but wind beneath his feet, the fugitive almost knocking over a tradeswoman on the way to the estate. Most of the nobles avoided the male as he sauntered through the markets, the courtyard outside the Hawke estate a welcome sight after finally making his way through the busy crowds of the lunchtime sales. The Hawke estate now embed with the family emblem looked promising, and given enough time and attention it would become a decadent home. Fenris stared at the engravings, not sure whether the insignia represented pigeons, hawks or griffons. He raised a hand to the door handle and found the lock to be loose, the door sliding open with a heavy creak.

Dust assailed his nostrils along with the stench of burning flesh, the warrior moving quickly to close the door behind him before any of the foul vapour could rouse suspicion outside. The manor was dark, its interior and high ceiling forcing the elf to gaze up in silent admiration. Thick cobwebs lined the ceiling and walls, deflated dead flowers decorating parts of the floor where vases had been smashed in haste.  
Strings and cut rope lined the floors where traps were once placed, corpses rimming the suite in the dozens. The uniforms of the skeletal remains were easily identifiable as slavers, causing the elf's lips to curl in disgust. Just how many of these scum were there in this city and had this group be seeking him as well? Were they but another arm of Danarius' puppets? Movement at the top of the stairs caught his eye as he found the shadow of a man moving in the bedroom above. The aura of the mage was significantly weaker and he didn't even realise his presence until the sound of clutter alerted him.

Fenris carefully ascended the stairs, a hand gliding along the handrail as he brought himself up onto the landing near the main bedroom. His lyrium markings crawled faintly as he neared the doorway to find Hawke crouched near a fireplace, the entire room dank with the stench of mold. Mushrooms and fungi were growing in the corners of the abode; the room harboring no furniture save for a corner lounge and a table against the far wall. A single metal cage hung from the ceiling, causing the elf to feel discomforted as he surveyed the rustic texture of the metal belly, the corpse of a young woman dried and starved leaning against its ribcage.

"I heard about what happened with your brother. It is...unfortunate..." He carefully approached the mage, unsure of his temperament or state of mind but judging by how weak the aura was, it was a sign that he was far from his best.

* * *

 

He heard the elf coming up behind him, tentative words of condolence murmured in that voice of his that made Hawke think of warm bitter chocolates. However, as much as he had missed the elf's presence, Hawke was not expecting company or comfort. He had no idea how anyone knew he was there, but he wouldn't put it past the dwarf. These days, he'd been so easy to read, an open book he can't close no matter what he did.

"He's not dead yet," Hawke said snapping as he left the fireplace and retired to the couch. The dust rose in clouds as he flopped upon the musty stuffing; the face of a corpse jeering at him from his uncanny chandelier. His pack lay on its side, and the mage opened it to pull a familiar bottle out of its depths. Gold coins and jewels spilled over the slumping rim, their cold glitter throwing colours all over the room.

"Might as well sit and drink. I reckon Varric said I need consoling?" the mage said sighing as he gestured besides him. There was nowhere else to sit but the lounge was wide enough that they need not touch. "Damn dwarf's in the same boat but still manages to dip his fingers in other people's lives," he muttered with a sardonic smirk that disappeared as he downed a large swig of agreggio. Hawke all but pushed the bottle into the elf's hands as he leaned back on the couch and stared at the steep ceiling.

Cobwebs and mold littered every corner his eyes landed on. Dust made swirling patterns on the floor and furniture when disturbed. Corpses, loot and broken furniture compromised the main decor of the mansion. It was a far cry from Leandra's fond reminiscing; the Amell crest now lay outside in the hallway, its fastenings rotted through.

As soon as he'd set foot in the place, Hawke had turned a 180. He was going to clean the place up on his own, no workers or helpers to assist. It would give him something to do until they receive news of Carver's fate. Nothing less than back-breaking work can distract him from the memory of his brother's face at his deathbed. The Taint had worked its way in so far that dark veins had coloured the tanned warrior's skin, his eyes nearly turning milky-white.

The bottle ended up in his hands again and Hawke drowned himself in a large gulp of numbness. He was a mess and he knew it, but he didn't want to pick himself up just yet. A lot of people were counting on him, people he couldn't face just yet. Why the elf sought him out eluded him, but at least Fenris wasn't looking at him with accusing eyes, or with pity.

"It's for the best if you leave soon. I'll be here if you need me, cleaning this place up for Mother," he drained the bottle and in a fit of pique hurled the glass into the fire where it burst and tinkled into the ashes.

* * *

 

"Mmm, yes. He said you would be here." The elf casually glided himself over to where Hawke rested his weary form, the snappy tone all but rolling of the warrior's shoulders. He was still cautious as he adjusted his seat next of the troubled man, making sure to keep enough distance between the two without making it seem like he was purposely avoiding him. The warrior's sword rest aside the cushion of the armchair, leaving the elf to carefully select his words.

The mage's body was covered in bruises, his skin oddly pulsating with prune-shaped markings that ran from his face and down into the collarbone of his shirt. His usually pallid milky skin had now but faded with dirt and a film of dust lining his scalp and jaw. His beard was rugged and slightly longer, the strands unkempt and unshaven. The man needed a good bath but Fenris knew he wouldn't be investing in one anytime soon, not when he needed to get a load of stress off his chest.

He allowed the mage to drink as much of the wine as he wanted, the elf only taking plaintive sips despite the wine being his favourite selection. He handed the bottle back over, allowing the man to complain and vent however he wished. Fenris didn't know what to say, he never saw using such moments as an excuse to make small talk but he figured sitting here would be enough for the man to realise he was there for him.

Steadily the warrior rose to his feet, sweeping the sword over his shoulder in a gentle arc so it could come to rest in its sheath. "If you have need of me I will be at my mansion." And with that the elf turned around and left at Hawke's request, hoping that the man would eventually come to his senses once the grieving was over.

Days and hours passed and still the elf had not heard of Hawke. Part of him wanted to go and see the man but he knew better. He wanted to be alone and sort out his problems without anyone getting in his way. Varric had dropped by with a message, saying that the slavers were once again active in Darktown and were of Tevinter origin, enough to set the elf on his toes. So they were back, were they? Fenris would have to deal with them and so he passed the message onto Aveline in hopes that the guardswoman would uncover information on the slaver's nest.

He had hoped that Hawke would take up another mission to get out of his state of depravity. Even if he was considered a noble now he couldn't simply sit by while so many things in Kirkwall demanded to be fixed. Varric had also taken up on Fenris' offer and had managed to smuggle a few bits of the treasure they had squandered from the Deep Roads into the mansion's cellar. At least they would be secure here and would give the dwarf enough time to organise interested buyers while not having to worry about the treasure disappearing from under his nose. It was only a varied amount of the accumulated keep but it would be enough to earn a small fortune if Varric twisted his words hard enough.

It was low evening when Fenris paused in his training at the sound of footsteps nearing the front door, the elf instinctively moving out of the way and into the shadows as the door steadily creaked open. The aura swept over him like a bristled broom, the hairs on his arms pricking on end as the figure rounded the door and shut it behind him. Of all people to come to his door the least he would have expected was Anders. "What do you want, mage?" Fenris demanded in a callous tone, the warrior slipping out of the shadows to startle the mage slightly.

"Don't think that I came here by choice." The apostate answered with a glare, his eyes inevitably drifting to the round lump of lyrium resting on the table nearby. "It's Hawke. He wanted me to come get you because we're in need of your...special talents." Hawke wasn't one to usually make the request so specific unless the mission involved persuasion of the violent kind. With a wrinkle of his nose the warrior turned around and started toward the main foyer. "Very well. Tell Hawke I will be there soon, now get out." Anders didn't need to be told twice as he spun around to leave the vicinity, slamming the door behind him while muttering unpleasantries.

* * *

 

The days passed by in uninterrupted silence, Hawke had yet to step outside the mansion as he spent his days scrubbing and washing the walls and floors. The only ones who came to visit him was Varric who wanted to discuss Hawke's plans for the treasure they found in the thaig; and Anders who came to berate the mage for spending too much of his time sulking about.

And so, after finally being bullied into a haircut and a badly needed shaving; the healer had asked Hawke for his assistance. He'd nearly balked when he heard the healer's request, assist several Circle fugitives in their run from the templars. The mage had learned that anything that had to do with templars usually meant blood mages, which meant abominations, which led to messy battles and more exposure to the templars. Hawke's plan was to lie low, but Anders just couldn't understand the meaning of 'hiding'.

So Hawke sent the healer to gather their friends. Isabela showed up soon, the pirate had been in the Hanged Man when Anders came by and had volunteered her assistance out of boredom. Varric was caught up in the middle of some business and had thus been excused from the job. The last member was someone Hawke asked for himself, much to Anders' horror. Fenris showed up soon after Anders returned. The sight of the elf's scowl was so familiar that when he and Anders started their usual jabs at each other, Hawke surprisingly felt a bit better.

Thankfully, no one had said anything about the expedition, or had asked any questions. As Anders and Fenris fought behind them, Isabela entertained Hawke with sly suggestions and gossip that had the mage sniggering along with her as they both threw glances at the squabbling pair. The walk to the coast did him well, despite the horrors they were soon bound to face.

They followed cliff paths, narrow winding passages that led them to some caves just off the beach. The runaway mages had hidden within one of the bigger caves while templars scoured the neighbourhood. Anders had said that an informant had led the bulk of the hunters away from this part of the coast, so it was quite a surprise when they saw one lone templar guarding the mouth of the cave the mages were hiding in.

As soon as the old templar saw Hawke, a smile lit his face; much to the mage's confusion. Sure, he recognized him from way back; the two had met once when Hawke found a letter addressed to the man. The letter came from a kidnapped mage who turned into an abomination in panic. Suffice to say that not all templars had it out for the mages, especially if that templar had a mage for a daughter.

"Serah Hawke, I'm glad you received my letter," Ser Thrask said, and eagerly pumped the mage's hand in greeting. Anders's mouth was wide open as he watched the proceedings. The healer hadn't been with them when they met the templar before.

"What letter?" Hawke asked stupidly. The templar had actually asked for his help, had sent a letter to Gamlen's house just a while ago, to enlist the mage's help in recovering the escaped mages. My, the look on Anders face when he heard that was that of a man betrayed.

The templars tasked to bring the mages in were of the bad sort, and Ser Thrask feared that the runaways would most likely die in 'accidents' if he didn't intervene. However, since he was only one man and armored in his templar insignia, he couldn't possibly walk in a den of possible blood mages and live. This is where Hawke came in. If the mage can persuade the fugitives to at least surrender calmly, Thrask will be able to bring them back to the circle in relative safety.

"It sounds like you have it all planned out already," the mage said in observation and received a warm smile in return. "If possible, I'd like to talk this over with my friends first. Walking into a blood mage trap isn't something I want to do head-on."

"Of course, but please do not tarry. My associates are not far from this place, and I would like to avoid running into them at any cost."

Hawke faced the rest of the group, already aware of how Anders was going to react to the change. Isabela hardly listened, content in wheedling Fenris a few paces away.

"I don't trust him, Hawke," Anders spat out, his voice just loud enough that Hawke knew Thrask can hear him. And maybe the mage was doing it on purpose because he kept throwing acid glances at the templar. "What if he slits their throat once we're gone? What then? I say we kill the old man and free our people."

Hawke blinked and stared, surprised with how easily Anders had made the suggestion. He couldn't even fathom how the other mage had arrived to this conclusion and he didn't even want to understand.

"Are you telling me, you'd let a dozen blood mages walk around freely while the only templar who cared about mages lie dead? Anders, those mages down there are a danger not only to themselves but to other people as well. Thrask is the only one right now who can make sure they'll reach the Circle alive. I know how you feel about keeping the mages in the circles, but at this point I'd have to ask you to rethink your convictions. You're being blinded by your anger!"

The healer must not have expected Hawke to explode as he did, for he said nothing as their party leader turned his attention to Fenris and Isabela. Hawke was stymied, and even as he handed healing potions to both Isabela and Fenris; he was frowning.

"Let's get this over with so I can go back to being a shut-in." he grumbled beneath his breath.

* * *

 

The sight of the Wounded Coast was sore, the jagged rocks and the split hulls of ships decorating the embankments of sand and reef. Usually it was refreshing to get out of the city but with Anders constantly burying daggers into the back of Fenris' head, it gave him little cause other than to argue back at the abominations filthy looks, his own green eyes set in burning holes through the mage's gaze. The two had bashed skulls the entire way here, the abomination deciding to prod arguments about why Fenris was at blame for this and should feel guilty for that. Truthfully the elf had heard enough. The last thing he wanted was to have a mage harp on him about those he killed. His fingers twitched as they trod through sand and grit, the elf deliberately kicking the dust in the mage's face as they tallied up the dunes.

If Hawke ever decided on a whim one day that Anders was of no use to him then the warrior would have jumped at the chance to rip the man to shreds. He was a possessed being and a hypocrite who failed to address his own problems while pointing out those of others. Not only that but he supported the release of dangerous criminals, people who would willingly see innocents harmed all in the name of their precious blood magic.

Thrask had filled them in on what they were required to do and Fenris could see why Hawke had wanted his aid. Blood mages were always one of his most favourite targets to kill. The elf was not only a living weapon but one that specialized in killing magic users in particular. If the apostates had decided to turn against them then at least Hawke had the reassurance of the warrior to rely on. Even standing outside of the cave the elf could feel just a whisper of an aura, markings on his skin just barely humming. Whoever or whatever lay within the cave were powerful and judging by the distance and how he was already able to feel their presence he guessed there were many; perhaps ten or more waiting inside.

Fenris bit down on his tongue as he pocketed the potions, sliding the vials into his belt so they could hang at his waist freely without restricting his movements. "And what would you have us do, mage? Let the blood mages walk free? No, I won't let you take them." Fenris glowered the abomination down, having easily overheard their argument since Hawke had practically shouted his rebellion to the suggestion. Isabela was a welcome distraction but now he found her more annoying than endearing as she simply added her two cents "Oh, would you get over yourselves. All you do is bitch and bitch. Why don't you just get it over with and have angry sex with eachother?" Fenris found the tips of his ears warming as his face flushed with anger at the wench's suggestion.

He calmly drew the blade with a graceful pull, the warrior deciding to take the lead by pushing past Anders and into the cave with a shove. Stalactites were seen hung from the ceiling, pools of mineralized water forming over the uneven floor in giant pools. The entire cave had a seaweed scent to it, a salt water river separating the cave into several individual rocky platforms. Some parts of the cave were vandalized, the crystals that once twinkled in the cave's walls all but plundered, smeared paint marked in the shape of an 'X' scribbled over the plundered goods. The elf tread carefully, his feet silent as he guided around the puddles, making sure to not trigger off any traps.

The aura he felt became stronger with each step, his body fizzing with eldritch energies akin to someone rubbing sandstone under his skin and against his muscles. It left his body sore and uneasy, his ears picking up the steps of an approaching enemy. He felt the malicious intent of the mage coming through the cave, his steps fast and cold. Suddenly, there he was; an acolyte dressed in what seemed to be robes that belonged to a foreign land and eyes filled with madness. Upon spotting the group the mage quickly raised his arms, a knife already jammed deep into his wrist that allowed a thick trickle of blood to pour down his skin.

No, he would not allow him to conjure his filthy demons here. Fenris suddenly grit his teeth as the acolyte spun his hand around the wounded arm, the blood rising away from the laceration as it formed loops around the limb. The cave already dark became even heavier, the shadows intensifying as the black magic set at work, casting the entire area under a demonic shadow. The air became thick like trying to breath in water as the ground around them began to distort, the rock rippling beneath their feet in shadowed waves.

Raising his sword, the warrior rushed forward, holding his breath to conserve oxygen as the demonic magic drained the area of both light and energy in perfect synchronization. With a feral howl Fenris then thrust the blade forward, the sword singing as it cut through the air and right into the mage's stomach. However, the elf kept up his charge, ramming the body of the mage further until his body pierced upon the blade like a skewer. With a mighty clang the blade connected with the rocky interior of the cave, the sword pinned through the mage whose voice had all but turned into maddening garbles. But it was too late.

The room had manifested enough dark energy to bring forth an effigy of darkness; a gate to the fade opening before them as a swarm of shadows suddenly burst through. Demonic wraiths swooped through the air as they launched out toward Hawke and his companions, their bony hands poised to scrape deep into human flesh. Damn it, the acolyte had slowed him down too much and Fenris found himself unpinning his target, the mage's body falling to a lifeless heap upon the cave floor. He turned around to engage his new targets, the nearest wraith being clean cut in two with but a single stroke of the warrior's sword, oily body coming to dissipate into a black puddle.

* * *

 

"Here we go again," was Hawke's mumbled curse as shades and demons broke through and started going after them all. Anders was sulking and not even the sight of the blood mage actually calling upon blood magic could make him rescind his belief. At least he hadn't stormed off in a fit of passion; they could sure use his spells right about now.

Isabela was just off to the corner, the pirate picking her targets with ease as she flitted from enemy to enemy. Hawke was raining fireballs after fireballs down and Anders was casting after the rage demons, freezing them in place before they could bury themselves in the earth. Soon enough the enemy died to a trickle before the last demon fell at Isabela's feet.

And still Anders failed to see reason, the mage would not even meet Hawke's eyes; instead storming forward with little regard to his companion's injuries. This only made Hawke angrier as he ran after the mage, throwing an exasperated look of apology at both Isabela and Fenris. Maker stay his hand before he finally decides to just throw their healer against the cave walls and perhaps knock his broken screw loose.

Through carved out walls and rickety walkways, the small chase continued. Hawke lost sight of Anders at one time and finally found him talking to a lone mage. Anders was talking furtively but Hawke knew that the healer was persuading the mage to escape. But it seems as if the young man had more common sense than the other apostate. After hearing that there was a templar willing to help them, Alain had rushed to Ser Thrask's side; an odd sight and a funny one that had Hawke take the time to think it over.

However, before the mage had left completely, he did drop a little tidbit that had Hawke throwing 'I told you so' glances at Anders. Seems like their little leader, a mage named Decimus had turned to blood magic and was encouraging the others to turn as well. Many had crossed over to his side while a measly few like Alain were still holding out. If they hurried, perhaps they may be able to help those that remained untainted.

So the rather gloomy party continued, Anders decidedly paler than before as he finally started to realize exactly how bad the situation was. Had the mages not turn to blood magic, they'd most certainly be allowed into the Circle with Ser Thrask's help. However, blood mages were another matter. Often they'd be slayed on the spot; and even if they surrendered they'd only be turned Tranquil. Perhaps Anders had been operating under the assumption that these mages were still innocent, but with such staggering evidence, there was no ignoring the truth. Especially since they were now pinned behind wooden buildings by an onslaught of shades, demons and abominations.

Hawke had found Decimus and the others soon enough, and despite their intent to help; the damn fool had turned and summoned the demons on them. No amount of talking could stay the maleficar's hand as most of the mages gathered started using blood magic as well. Finally, the battle ended with Hawke casting a firestorm to raze the whole area. Blackened bodies crumbled into ashes as the last of the abominations fell. On a ledge, a few mages emerged; their bodies shaken and trembling after witnessing their friends' death.

Grace, one of the older members begged for their freedom; one that Hawke did not grant.

"Is it because of the templars? There's only one standing outside, and if we slit his throat we'd be far from Kirkwall before anyone notices."

The offer sounded so familiar that Hawke could not help but stare at Anders drily. The healer had a wide-eyed look on his face as he shook his head in response. Well that should convince the healer, had he needed any more convincing.

In the end, Hawke had to be gruff as he herded the group back to Thrask for safe-keeping. As they were leaving the caves, Anders held him back by the arm, a look of shame evident on the healer's face as they watched the rest of the group leave with the mages. Isabela took the lead with Fenris at their tail.

"Hawke, I... I want to apologize. I wasn't in my right mind, and I thought you've betrayed us to the templar somehow," the blond mage started as he wrung his hands in dismay. "So I acted out and said what I said. I'm not like her, I see that now. After they turned into abominations... even Justice had to agree that this is the right course of action."

"I never should have doubted you, you've always acted for the good of all and there was no way you'd have worked with a templar unless you had a good reason," the mage said in a rush before he fell silent and a frown marred his face. "It's just that lately, you've always been with the elf; even before the expedition. And I thought... I just thought that he was turning you against mages," against me... The thought wasn't said but Hawke knew Anders enough to read between the lines. Still, the thought of Fenris brainwashing him was so funny that he ended up laughing right in the healer's face.

"You need to lighten up, Anders. The Deep Roads made you paranoid for some reason. Fenris isn't like that at all. He might have strong opinions about mages and magic, but he isn't the type to force feed you with them." There was a smile in Hawke's eyes as he glanced at the group walking in front of them. "I spend as much time with everyone else as I do with Fenris. And besides, haven't you had me by your side for nearly a month now? Or did Justice erase your memories of the Deep Roads?"

"You're right, I'm such a fool. How can you even bear listening to me, Hawke?"

"That's because you're my friend, however insane your chatter might be." With their conversation done, the two mages jogged up to rejoin the others, laughter sometimes bubbling from the raven's throat. He met emerald green gaze and gave Fenris a good-natured wink; but what he didn't see was Anders staring at him with what Isabela would have called a love-struck gaze.

* * *

 

Fenris had trailed behind the group once the first wave of demons had been abolished into smoke and tar puddles. Anders seemed to be in a tiff again, the mage storming ahead with elbows swaying. "Why you continue to have him at your side I do not know." The elf had commented snidely as he watched the foolish human scout the caves ahead, not planning to go out of his way if the mage met danger there.

There in the caverns beyond the party found one of the mages who was trying to escape the blood conversion taking place. Fenris had found his respect for Hawke growing as he had encouraged the apostate to go to Thrask instead of whisking him off into the wilds. Anders really was delusional to think he could try persuade the man under Hawke's nose, a sign of disrespect that had the elf throw a seething glance in the blonde's direction.

The cave fanned out the deeper they travelled with the sound of hushed voices whispering and reciting promises of power echoing out of hidden passageways. Fenris had kept his sword drawn, his ears keen to pick up sound as the lyrium in his skin now felt like licks of flame, the pain they caused making him irritable. The culprit for the discomfort reared its ugly head; the blood mage Decimus unleashing a door to the fade that had demons pouring out and through the cavern like a plague.

Other mages soon joined the fray, their combined blood magic devastating as they descended the room into a pit of darkness. Fenris had unleashed the markings power, blue spectral flames spreading out around him in an inferno as the elf rushed forward, his targets being the mages who were still summoning demons and casting blood bolts at the companions. Like a lyrium ghost he moved from enemy to enemy, their entrails spilling across the ground with every precise cleave. He punctured one through the stomach and had ended her miserable life by tearing out her flank, the female apostate nearly separated in half as she sprawled out over the ground. The next mage went down even quicker, the warrior spinning under a ball of corruption that was thrown at him only to swing the blade higher, decapitating the head from the blood mage's body in a clean sweep.

The warrior left a crimson path of gore in his wake, allowing Hawke, Isabela and Anders to focus on taking down Decimus and the demons with the lesser apostates now out of the way. He could taste their blood in his mouth as he rammed a wraith through the neck, its claws flailing as it tried to grab onto to elf to bring him closer and off balance. Instead the warrior moved in on the demon's behalf, barging the apparition with his shoulder so it caused the unholy serpent to roll back, granting him enough access to land his sword between its eyes.

By the end of the battle the cavern were a mess, ashes and flames licking the ground with bodies consisting of burnt flesh and steaming clothes. Entrails, guts and dismembered limbs laid scattered about, enough to frighten the remaining mages into submission. The elf was pleasantly singed with a fresh array of claw-marks against his back and legs. His gums were bleeding as well but otherwise he was in good shape. He downed half of one of Hawke's potions as they receded to the surface, the elf bringing up the back of the group with sword drawn to send a clear message to the mages there was no option of escape. They were going back to the Templars dead or alive.

Thrask had taken them in rather gratefully, the templars escorting the entourage back to Kirkwall despite Sir Karras' impulsive complaints. He cleaned down his bloody sword once they started making way back along the coast, the sand crumbling under his toes as he used a torn bit of rag to rub off the gore that had got caught around the handle. However his attention drifted as he watched the two magic wielders make amends in the reflection of the sword, the abomination looking rather sorry for himself. The warrior's eyes narrowed as the mage mentioned about Fenris turning Hawke against the mage's favor.

The warrior blew the hair out of his face in protest, the white strands now slightly reddened from being caked in blood. The thrill of tearing blood mages apart was second to none but he was beginning to feel the only thing that could trump that would be by slicing off Ander's pretty little head. The mage admittedly had a nice look to him, his blonde hair and dark eyes making him seem passive and soft. He had a somewhat feminine beauty about him and Fenris could have admired that but his snarky attitude and foolish decisions had already decided his fate for him. The silver of the sword reflected the sun but there was no denying what emotion he saw, the longing and desire that Anders had given Hawke as they had made way to catch up with him.

It was enough to cause the elf to grit his teeth. "Venhedis." He spat, the elf slugging the heavy weapon over his back to sheath is with a clang. "And to think that you went in to try convince the mages to escape, in Hawke's company no less." It was obvious that Fenris was beginning to lose his cool, his body spinning around to face the two men as they clambered after them. "It just shows that you can't be trusted. That if there is but a moment of doubt you would turn against those that you claim are so important to you!" It was the topping of the cake. The cake had been baking for weeks, months even and now it was fresh out of the oven. Anders had got in the way and had demolished his opinion time and time again but to be accused falsely of leading Hawke on and to gaze at the man in the way he did was the final crime.

The elf loomed toward him, head low with half of his hair covering his face so that one eye burned out from underneath the thick white bangs. His gaze stung, shoulders tense as the elf's arms swayed stiffly at his side. He was on a war charge, his hands reaching out to snap the braces of his gauntlets as they fell to the ground in a clatter. Fenris' only memories were obeying the orders of authority and Hawke, knowing or not were that authority. The days spent serving for a magister as his bodyguard had trained him to react to those who would show disrespect and Anders had done more than just disrespect Hawke. He had disrespected himself and it was reason enough for Fenris to knock sense into him.

He moved suddenly to the side, his limber legs carrying him down the dunes as his bare hands suddenly raised, the sword having being discarded behind him as well as he launched at the mage like a feral dog. The elf's hands gripped at the mage's throat as he threw him off balance, a foot hooking behind the healer's ankle so he toppled to the ground like a sack of coal. The warrior didn't let up as the mage fell, his bare hands clenching, one around the other's collar, the other forming a fist as he struck out with a growl, the punch slamming hard into Ander's ribs so that the air was knocked clean out of his lungs.

* * *

 

At first Anders had been the angry one, and that was within reason. Then suddenly, Fenris was at the healer's throat, literally; and Hawke had no idea what spurned it on.

He saw the elf turning towards them, but his eyes had followed the gauntlets as they fell to the sand. Then suddenly there was a distinct thump as Anders fell down, a loud smack and exhaled breath. And then both men were on the ground fighting with their hands and legs. Isabela was just as stumped as Hawke was before she recovered enough to admire the scene. One of her well-known wishes was to see Fenris and Anders tussling about. And though the current scene wasn't exactly what she's hoped for, more oil and less clothes; it was still enough to fan her squeals and giggles.

It wasn't that much of a fight, what with Anders concentrating on protecting himself and Fenris landing blow after blow that made Hawke cringe despite himself. It was almost like the elf was possessed by a rage demon, or as though he was rage personified. There was no letting up, even when Anders managed to throw him off and scramble back on his haunches. The elf was quick to follow, much like a cat that swiped at the blonde's face. Cuts and bruises littered the mage's arms, though he'd healed himself when they left the cave.

He merely stared for some time, unable to process the scene happening before him. Finally, a rather high thin shriek from the beaten mage shocked Hawke into action. He knew it was going to hurt, knew he'd most likely get a broken nose; or worse, turn the wolf's attention on him. Yet he still did it.

He went after Fenris, his arms locking round the elf's chest as he pulled him back and away from Anders. It was an insane move, one that would surely kill him if he's not careful; but there he was on the sand with a lapful of cursing, spitting, fighting elf. And then he simply sat and held his grip like a vice. It was like hugging a hedgehog, sharp spines and bites. Though Fenris had shed his gauntlets, his shoulders were still covered by his spiny epaulettes. And though they didn't look that sharp, they were still very painful when they're digging into Hawke's chest.

Fenris was growling and raging to get out of Hawke's arms, curses in both common and Tevene ringing out over the breaking waves. He really did try his best to get away, but Hawke had casted a small spell on his arms, sticking them together with a bit of force magic.

"See! He's crazy! You shouldn't get too close to him Hawke, or he'll dig your heart out like he tried with mine! He's a magister's weapon and there's no way he'd ever be normal!"

The voice and words belonged to Anders who was now rising shakily to his feet with Isabela's aid. Hawke's blood chilled when he heard him, and a silence descended upon the place as he turned cold grey eyes on the healer. Anders must have realized the mistake he made because he was quick to put more than a few paces between him and the struggling elf.

Hawke was almost tempted to let Fenris free, but he knew the elf was sure to kill the healer now; especially after what he'd said. But there was no use to such mindless bloodshed however fitting it may be. So he held on tighter, burying his face into the elf's back and closing his eyes because there was a large chance of getting his eyes plucked off, proven entirely by several gashes on his cheekbones. He saw Isabela leading Anders away and back to Kirkwall and sighed in relief, perhaps with the healer out of view, Fenris could calm down faster.

The elf kept struggling against him though it didn't last long. They were both breathing harshly when he finally settled down though, though by that time Hawke had unclasped his arms and had slumped over the elf's back.

"What was that about Fenris?" the mage mumbled wearily and pushed the elf off his lap. He was in dark mood now, as evident by the glare he kept throwing towards the wolf. When it seems that Fenris was not about to answer, Hawke instead paid more attention to the new wounds he got.

They were all scratches and bruises, several along his collar, a couple on his face, and what looked like an animal attack on his forearms. They were all bleeding profusely but a glass of elfroot was enough to stem the flow.

"I've never seen you lose your cool like that before. What Anders said before, about you turning me against mages, was bad. But attacking him for it was even worse," He was still being ignored so the mage reached out and wrapped a hand around the elf's arm, where the lyrium lines tinged under his skin and sang to his magic. He was almost begging when he spoke again, worry and pain lacing his words, "Come on, don't shut me out now. We are friends, are we not?"

* * *

 

Each socket to the mage's body felt like therapy. Though the elf was smaller and lither, he was certainly a lot stronger and faster and each consecutive blow earned a wheeze of accomplishment. The two had tousled through the sand, their bodies rolling down the dune slightly to end up a little too close to the cliff-face. Fenris had swivelled his hips, locking his powerful thighs around the mage's lower body so he could deliver his blows without being able to be shoved off. However Anders was a squirmy man and had wriggled out of the elf's vice only to knock him aside, the warrior's mouth filling and spitting sand as he quickly pushed to his feet, a hand wiping on the back of his lips.

He had thrown a set of good punches in, the grappling having caused his nails to dig into the male's arms as he attempted to defend himself from the wolf's aggression. He snarled as he lunged out, this time his body turning and lowering enough so he could deliver an uppercut to the mage's chin, splitting open the skin and earning him a shower of blood from the apostate's mouth. He then brought up his other fist ready to follow up a left hook, the punch aimed to knock the man unconscious but instead found his feet being lifted from off the ground. Strong arms wrapped around his midriff tightly, breastplate and all, hauling the wolf away before he could deal any more damage.

The elf pushed with his strength, the muscles on his arms flaring to full capacity. Hawke's arms were opened but just before he could make enough room to get himself out he found the limbs snapping back, magic forcing the limbs tight around him like a leash. "Get up and face me!" The elf roared to the abomination as he pushed his shoulders forward, his hands now trying to get enough leverage to raise himself out of the man's grip. His mind did not register the arms belonged to Hawke or the pirate leading the way, only his target who continued to berate him despite how much punishment the Tevinter had given him.

Anders was pulled away, leaving Fenris to assault the air with bitter curses. The abomination was fleeing and each second he was caught within this snare was only going to put more distance between him and his prey. Fenris continued to flail, his body steadily running out of anger that continued to drive him forward, eventually slowing enough it that allowed his mind to encompass what exactly was happening to him. He felt the figure behind him shift and lean against him, hot breaths of air washing down the back of his neck. The scent of blood drew his attention downward, the elf's eyes widening slightly at the sight. What had he done?

In his realization he had suddenly jerked forward, the mage releasing the vice around his waist as he allowed the elf to stand before him, face worried turning in disbelief. He had hurt the one person he never wanted to unless he was faced with no other choice, but today he had plenty of choices and now his friend was mutilated because of his blind rage. The elf back peddled slowly, looking at Hawke in a manner of indifference. Perhaps the abomination's accusations were right; maybe the elf wasn't meant to have friends because the only ones he would gather would only be rewarded with pain. Perhaps he really was like a savage beast, cursed to drive a wedge between himself and anything he found getting too close. The Fog Warriors, Hawke, even Danarius.

"I...need to go." Was all the elf responded with as he quickly turned away, his legs carrying him over the sandy banks as he retrieved his sword and gauntlets. He didn't even bother putting them on, the elf choosing instead to flee because he was worried what he was capable of. What if his anger returned and he had snapped at Hawke instead? No, he wouldn't allow it.

_"Come on, don't shut me out now. We are friends, are we not?"_  Damn you, Hawke. His mouth felt bitter as he clambered back through the dunes on his own, his eyes set on Kirkwall and nothing else. Why did he have to say that? Even after everything he did to him? He had burnt the bridge of trust when Hawke needed him most. He was already a mess after the Deep Roads and now Fenris had left him with even more drama to flounder with.

A monster like himself shouldn't deserve friends, he thought. A monster didn't deserve to be trusted or treated with affection. How far would the warrior be willing to go in his anger that he didn't realise he was hurting possibly his only friend? Hawke deserved better, or so the elf thought. He continued time and time again to get past the elf's defences and time and time again the elf had found a way to shake whatever faith Hawke had tried to create. No, Hawke was a good man. He needed someone who could be a friend to him without making things harder for him.

He felt like a burden. He felt like a fool and mostly he felt that he had stabbed Hawke in the back once again; all because he let the abominations words get to him. And so he hiked back to Hightown and had closed the mansion door behind with a slam. He charged for the cellar and opened up a fresh bottle, downing the liquid within seconds before opening another.  _Damn you, Hawke._  Why did that man have to plant the seeds of curiosity within his heart. Another bottle was emptied, his vision beginning to distort as a third was opened, his back cradled with cold stone. Images of the mage's smiling face flittered behind his eyelids, the elf's body gradually slumping further down the wall the more he drank. Why did he continuously have to give the elf reasons to admire him? Why did he have to have that stupid dream?

Another drink and this time the empty bottle was hurled across the cellar to smash on the opposite wall. A hazed halo rimmed his vision as he cast his eyes to the ceiling, almost as if he was questioning the divine himself. Why of all beings did it have to be him; A Fereldan, a refugee, a man, a mage of all things.

It was in this moment that the elf found his body drifting back, his vision faded to darkness as the bottle almost empty now laid restfully at his side, the contents spilling over the floor as his mind closed to the world around him as he succumbed to his inhibitions.

Why was it that of all things to desire that Fenris found himself desiring Hawke most?

He really was a fool.

* * *

 

It was funny how mere words hurt more than physical blows. It's sad however how Hawke had been paralysed by the elf's abrupt departure. He sat there on the sand for some time, with only the chill brought by the evening to keep him company. The seagulls cawing at him from their rock perch in the cliffs were like jeers and laughter, the damnable birds finding humour in the mage's plight. But he somehow managed to find his footing, his feet automatically marching him towards Kirkwall, Lowtown then Varric's suite.

The dwarf was absent, but his room was open. Most of the treasure had been relocated to the elf's mansion, the rest sold off at exorbitant prizes to both human and dwarven nobles in Kirkwall and afar. The dwarves bought off most of the goods, greedy little bastards wanting to lay their hands on their history. Varric had been a shrewd businessman, selling off family heirlooms to the family themselves who couldn't help but buy it at Varric's prices. To ignore the young Tethras would be to announce their disregard for their ancestors, and to insinuate that they were too poor to regain their lost history. And if there was anything that traditional dwarves value more, it would be their family name and honour. As such, the dwarf was raking in the profits too easily.

Nora, the bar-maid soon came in with Hawke's usual bottle. But the mage had plans for the night. She came back with five more and was asked to bring five more in once Varric arrived. So by the time the dwarf came back with Isabela, Hawke was so steeped in ale that it seemed as though he'd poured a bottle all over himself. The pirate's face fell; she'd just told Varric everything that happened after she brought Anders back to his clinic. She had been hoping that Hawke might have calmed the elf down enough and would have returned with Fenris but that was too much to hope for apparently.

Hawke wasn't talking either, content in cradling his chin on his arms as he kept a tight grip on the alcohol. When Varric started asking him questions, the mage had merely eyed him morosely which discouraged the dwarf in turn. In the end, to distract Hawke from his troubles, they played cards all night long. The distraction did little for Hawke was too enamoured with his bottles than with the cards dealt to him.

Morning came after and the mage tottered to his feet. The dwarf, short though he was; still managed to help the mage back to his Hightown corner. As he tucked Hawke into the tiny cot in one of the upstairs bedroom, Varric couldn't help but sigh. Dwarven drama was often short-lived, nothing several rounds of rum can't fix. Humans and elves were much too complicated. He didn't even want to know what triggered the mage's slump this time. So far, from what he'd heard from Isabela, most of the fault lay on both Blondie and Broody. Hawke was most probably the reason why the two had fought, but that didn't mean that they had to drag him in.

He had seen the fading marks on the mage's arms, scratches and bruises and several deep gashes across Hawke's collar bone. Isabela said that Fenris had been fighting to get free, which was understandable considering the way Anders had shot his mouth off. So Hawke should be the angry one, not the depressed party in this three-way battle. Unless the elf said something stupid again, which he seems to have a knack for when Hawke's involved.

Varric glanced down at his sleeping friend, noting the dark bags under the mage's eyes. He also looked a bit gaunt, as though he hadn't been eating well. Looking around the Amell estate, Varric can understand why. He'd been with Hawke and Carver when they snuck in to retrieve their grandparent's will. The place had been a mess then, home to smugglers, thieves and slavers alike. But in the last few days that Hawke had occupied it, the place had done a 180. Gone were the cobwebs that curtained the ceilings, the mold that painted the walls and the corpses that littered the floor with their remains. Wet plaster on the walls marked the spots where the mage had filled in cracks and damage. Even the broken tiles had been cleared off, and from one corner of the ceiling, fresh white paint blossomed. The mage must have gone with little sleep and food in order to do as much as he could in the time he'd been here. With so much time spent on fixing the place up, he wouldn't have had enough time to mourn his losses which must be the reason why he was working himself to the bone.

Varric had to do something.


	6. Jealousy and a Quiet Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a few artworks based on the RP.  
> They're a bit scattered, but if anyone wants to know how my custom Hawke looks like.  
> You can visit me on tumblr, [here](http://nyansensities.tumblr.com/)

Hawke woke up with a headache, one that made the whole world move sideways and up and over, until he realized he'd fallen off his small kip. He could hardly distinguish the pain from his fall from the one caused by the alcohol. But that mattered little, nothing a few sips of potion could fix.

He distinctively remembered drinking with Varric and Isabela, and then nothing. So either the dwarf or the pirate helped him home and judging from his fully-clothed state, Varric was his hero.

And then the memories of yesterday returned, and somehow a night spent drinking had done much to comfort him from the wolf's rejection. Anyone who said that alcohol wasn't the solution to anything had it wrong which meant that he can just go ahead and drink some more.

He had a bottle of wine open, his own stock; when the front door opened to let Merrill and Anders in. The elven mage was looking decidedly furious while the healer seemed to shrink behind the female apostate. Hawke blinked at the sight and chuckled to himself as he came down the stairs to join them on the landing. With nary a word, Merrill shoved Anders forward, the poor mage nearly tripping over his robes at the ferocity of the action.

"Anders has something to say," Merrill said curtly and frowned at the blonde.

"I wanted to apologize, for yesterday." Anders said quietly, his eyes casting everywhere save Hawke's. "I said too much and made the el- I mean, Fenris. I made him angry which is why you two ended up fighting," At the elf's urging, "I know I said too mu-"

"Wait, why are you telling me this?" Hawke asked in surprise as he gulped down another swallow of wine. Anders was also staring at him as well as Merrill though she was looking more at Hawke's bottle than the man himself.

"I, well- Merrill said-"

"I mean, why are you apologizing when the one you should apologize to isn't even here?" Hawke needled some more. At Anders' stumped look, he sighed and released the wine bottle on top of a table before pushing both visiting mages out through the door.

"We were going to visit Fenris after he made amends with you," Merrill answered as the three walked through Hightown.

Her words made the healer squeak in surprise, his steps faltering when he realized they were making their way to the elf's hideout. Hawke couldn't possibly blame him. After the beating he took yesterday, anyone would be terrified of facing the one who did it.

They walked in silence, Merrill's arm hooked through Anders' though it looked as though she was manhandling the healer forward with the way they moved. Hawke caught sight of a small group in front of the elf's mansion. He recognized Varric's stout form, Aveline in her armour, Sebastian glittering under the sun, and what looked like Isabela kneeling in front of the front door openly picking the locks. A lot of the rich folks around were looking at them surreptitiously, but Aveline was doing a good job shooing them away. They all looked quite suspicious though the lot brightened up when they spotted Hawke.

Varric was explaining their plan; have Aveline and Sebastian knock broody out so that they can kidnap him for a death match with Anders. The idea only made Anders that much paler as he quietly begged Merrill for his freedom. A moment later, Isabela's triumphant voice rang out and the door swung open on its hinges. The whole group stared at each other grimly before as one of many hands pushed Hawke and Anders through the entryway, the door slamming shut behind them.

The two blinked in the sudden darkness and with Hawke dragging Anders forward, the two started searching for the wolf. He wasn't in the bedroom, the cold fireplace stating the elf's absence since yesterday. He was not in the other upper rooms, nor the rooms on the ground floor. This left one last place to look.

The basement was in darkness, the candles and lanterns cold and dead. Hawke summoned a wisp to light the path through empty barrels and shelves. Near the far corner they found Fenris, the elf curled up against himself with an empty bottle for company. Hawke had steeled himself for the encounter, but he sincerely did not want it to play out like this. He sent Anders back up and strive to make heads and tails of the mess Fenris was in.

He knew the wolf would react badly if Hawke woke him just like that, so to avoid further injuries, the mage melted some ice in a bucket. And without even one word of warning, threw the freezing contents all over the elf.

Fenris woke in a panic, his hands grappling for his sword which lay discarded some feet away. He looked around him in confusion, then down at his freezing wet self, then up at Hawke standing a few feet away in safety.

"Awake?" the mage asked, though he made no move to approach the other. "Someone wants to say something to you, so wake up properly and go dry off. We'll wait upstairs." He summoned another wisp to provide Fenris some light before he himself walked back up to Anders. He found the healer straining against the front door, whispering threats and promises through the thick wood. When he saw his fellow mage however, he shuffled away sheepishly and sat with Hawke on the stairs. They were both silent as they gazed at the small lump of lyrium, wondering which idiot would be fooled by such an obvious trap.

Fenris finally came out of his cavern, still a bit damp but a bit more collected than Hawke found him. The mage felt the healer stiffen behind him as they also got to their feet. Fenris was wearing everything he felt towards the blonde on his face, distaste, barely-restrained rage and murder. So Hawke stepped forward, between the two as safeguard.

"Fenris, Anders has something to say. Anders?"

The healer brought his head up, panic in his eyes as he silently begged Hawke for mercy. When nothing came his way, the blonde sighed and started fidgeting where he stood.

"I came to apologize. For saying what I did yesterday. I was angry for a reason and I was jealous." his voice tightened at the admission as he met Hawke's steely gaze before swivelling back to Fenris. "And then you attacked me which in turn made me even madder. I lied, I don't think of you as a weapon or a tool... You're one of Hawke's friends, and though I don't like you, it means you're something of an acquaintance, in extension."

Silence reigned after the mage's admission, and even Hawke found himself smiling at the awkward apology. It had really taken a lot out of Anders to do this, and more than one electricity spell from Merrill's hands. But that didn't mean that everything was alright now. Hawke turned from the healer to the wolf, his grey eyes pointedly staring at the elf.

"And Fenris, what do you have to say for yourself?" He was of course, looking for an apology from the elf. Fenris had had a hand in all this, and thus had also need to apologize to Anders even if he didn't pay any to Hawke.

* * *

 

_"What are you?" Crack! Fenris strained against the chains, the cuffs around his wrists only tightening as he tried to find some solace from the pain. His back was raw; the usual tanned skin now but a fleshy red, blood seeping down his back and thighs onto the floor below. "What are you?" Crack went the whip once more, the sting of pain rousing a cry from the elf who continued to try struggle, his teeth bared and patterned in blood. "I...I am..." Crack! "Faster, my pet. Tell me what it is you are." His feet slipped, the body of the elf dipping in defeat as the pain had stolen each breath from his body. His head spun with the blood loss, a chalice placed between his legs where the crimson fluid filled in drips. Danarius caressed the bloody whip, a bemused smirk playing at his lips with his slave's defiance. His little wolf was a remarkable specimen, unwilling and unbreakable; wild and untamed like the beast themselves. Even with his back raw and open, he continued to deny his role._

_Sick of playing games the magister lazily flicked his wrist, the blood pooling under Fenris stirring to life as tendrils of dark magic erupted, coiling like serpents up and over his body only to drill into the open wounds on his spine. The elf cried out, his voice hoarse and laboured, even his screams of pain all but abandoning him to the mage's restless torment. His markings seethed with the magic caressing him, inflaming over his skin like a molten brand. He felt so utterly drained, the magic having burnt through every fibre of his being until all he could smell, taste and see was blood; his vision turning to copper as the veins close to the skin hemorrhaged "I...am a tool..." The elf muttered weakly, his eyelids blinking away the blood as it dripped down his face, seething like acid. "I...am a slave."_

His vision bleached to white, the elf's body flying from off the rocky wall in a stumble as his senses returned to him in a blind rush. His body automatically lunged for his sword, the ground and figures swirling around him in a daze. He blinked his eyes a few times, the lyrium in his skin burning a bright neon blue as they threatened to unleash though the voice that had pulled him out of his dream subconsciously kept them in check. He glanced up to catch Hawke's gaze, his eyes burrowing into the mage's back as he turned and left the elf to awaken fully to his senses. His ears rung painfully and the voices outside his door did little to aid his hangover but all in all the, nightmare had ceased. One he hoped would not return for some time.

Hawke and his party had moved upstairs, leaving the still slightly inebriated elf to scramble for a bath. He should have known Hawke wouldn't leave him be, the elf dunking as much of himself into the cold water as possible. His tanned muscles jittered with the chill, white hair hanging a damp pale frame as he studied his reflection in the water below. He looked like shit; his dark eyes supporting even more bags than usual and face marked with fresh battle wounds. After the bath, the warrior quickly made himself presentable, securing his armour and clothes to his body.

He was still a bit damp as he approached Hawke cautiously, the elf refusing to make eye contact as he preferred to gaze at the mage's collarbone or neck instead. He found Anders looking at him over Hawke's shoulder with a fearful expression, the elf returning the gaze with a dark glare. However hard that glare might have been, Anders had still found the courage to step forward and face him, the elf's eyes narrowing as the mage apologized for what had occurred between them. It was awkward to say the least but the healer had gone ahead and decided to be the better man, even if the rest had to drag him to do it.

"I..." He fought to find the right words as he finally met Hawke's gaze, the elf's expression fighting to keep himself in line. Part of him was still very angry at Anders but the better half wanted to make amends, for Hawke's sake rather than his own or that of the abomination's. The mage had unwillingly become the division between the two opposing parties and had taken punishment that wasn't intended for him.

"I was...out of line. I thought I was doing Hawke justice because of the way you acted," He paused briefly to eye the other members, all of which were either watching the event or were eyeing the interior of the manor which was becoming worse for wear with every passing day. "It was wrong of me. I should have known that it was not my place to deal with such things. I apologize." His words were forced but they were still sincere. He had released a lot of tension by pummelling the mage and though he still hated the man, for now he could at least make amends with him. Perhaps he was a rival, someone that could debate with him but in the end still be worked with. He cast his gaze once more to Hawke, looking for the raven's approval as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"And why is it that you brought everyone to the admission?"

* * *

 

"It's a show worth seeing," Isabela answered with a smile as she poked about the broken items left over from the scourge.

"I was supposed to shoot the winner of the deathmatch," Varric answered with a sly grin. Indeed, he had Bianca on his lap, polishing her wooden handles with care.

"We had nothing to do," was Sebastian's answer for himself and Aveline. Indeed the two were on their way to the Hanged Man for drinks when they got roped into the whole fiasco.

"I was helping Anders script his apologies for Hawke, but we ended up here instead," Merril quipped from the stairs.

Hawke sighed despite himself; leave it to this bunch to make a joke out of what should have been a touching scene. And now that the show was over, the ungrateful bastards started filtering out, heading for the tavern no doubt. They all allowed him to escape, the poor healer still embarrassed by his actions. After plans were drawn out quickly for a night of belated celebration, Hawke and Varric herded the rest out of the elf's mansion. The invitation was extended to both guilty parties, though Anders tried to wriggle out of it by lying about how busy the clinic was. No-one took it seriously and threatening smiles from his fellow mages had the healer acquiescing to the invitation. Then Hawke dropped his bombshell, the two owed him. There was no escape after that.

Varric had expected the mage to stay behind and make sure that Fenris was going. Surprisingly, Hawke had gone with the rest back to the Hanged Man though usually he'd be stuck like glue to the elf's side. It was still rather early for drinking though so Merrill and Anders had gone home and promised to return. Aveline and Sebastian continued to the bar, unlikely drinking partners in their quest for good armour. Isabela was of course the center of attention as she paraded about among the tables looking for some poor sod to cheat with at cards. Honing her skills, she said, and building her capital. So Varric and Hawke headed to the suite, though they nursed their drinks for as long as they could; no point in getting themselves drunk before everyone else arrived.

"So... I see you're ignoring the elf now," Varric started slyly. Hawke merely smiled at him and kept his silence. But the dwarf was not discouraged easily, "Any particular reason as to why only Broody's getting the cold shoulder? I saw you talking to Anders just fine."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, dwarf. Fenris and I are doing just fine," The tankard rose and fell, hiding the mage's grin as he sipped at his ale. It was true however, Hawke had avoided the wolf's gaze as much as he could after he and Anders had made up. He had made a point of talking to everyone save Fenris himself as they were all talking about the party. Every time the elf had sidled closer, Hawke had turned and talked to someone across the room. If the elf still didn't get it after all that, then the mage was doing a bad job of it.

Even if all was as good as it'd ever be between Fenris and Anders, Hawke had yet to hear an explanation for the way they parted yesterday. Usually, if it was nothing serious, the mage would have let it go. But if Fenris was to beat Anders every time for an unknown reason, the mage reckoned the issue need addressing. But how was he to help when the wolf didn't even want to tell him. Heck, Fenris had chosen to make Hawke feel like crap instead of talking it over like civilized people. If this was to be a normal occurrence, Hawke at least wanted to know why.

"Suit yourself, Hawke. But please don't have your lover's tiff here. You two are destructive enough that I fear Nora will have us kicked out for property damage." Hours passed with Hawke and Varric, and soon Merrill talked over their watered down drinks. The others trickled in one after the other, though both Aveline and Sebastian were a little bit tipsy by the time they abandoned the lower bar. Anders did show up, though his lingering shame had him lingering by the sidelines. And by the time the elf appeared; Hawke was inaccessible.

The mage had started a game of dice going, some of the lower bar patrons joining in at his behest. Isabela was playing but she was slightly put out because only the dealer was allowed to handle the dice, which meant that this time, she really had to rely on luck instead of her tricks. They were sequestered in one corner of the room near the door, uninterrupted by everyone else. He spied the wolf getting his own drink later and yet the mage made no move to greet him. Isabela, the gossip that she was, leaned over the table, her bosom nearly obscuring the dice.

"Fenris is here," she said and waved her hands at the elf. The mage merely shrugged and adopted an impassive expression as he kept his eyes on the dealer's hand.

"Is he? I didn't notice," he answered coldly and frowned when his bet didn't show up. "Well, say hi to him or something for me." he continued before paying his loses. "I'm going to get a refill."

He carried his tankard in his hand and made his way to the bartender, weaving through the roiling bodies easily enough. The barman was a chatty fellow, always full of the latest local news and gossip. Hawke often found himself wasting time needling the man for more information, and he had never failed the mage before. So there he was, talking to the man as he waited for his refill. It seemed like there was lot going on, especially in Ferelden.

* * *

 

Fenris had found the gathering in his manor still odd despite their explanations and had simply let them carry on as they desired, preferring to simply be a bystander among the banter than involve himself in any manner, not that was very social anyway. He had slid over to stand next to Hawke's side albeit kept his gaze on anything but; the floor, the ceiling, that warden Anders. He could tell the man was avoiding addressing him as well and though it did bring a pang of guilt, it was almost refreshing. He had said exactly what needed to be said, nothing more. Making small talk now would only make him seem insufficient.

Eventually the party left, leaving the wolf once more in solitude. Thank the Maker for that. His hangover had done little to give him respite and so once everyone had left he had relocked the doors and clambered back to the bedroom to sleep. With a groan, the mattress yielded under him, sword and armour thrown to the floor. He usually didn't sleep in but today he made an exception, the elf's eyes drifting closed once more to whisk him back into the reprieve of darkness.

The warrior awoke later that evening, a few hours of added sleep elevating his mood enough to re-think about the celebrations at the Hanged Man. The elf didn't always attend and he found himself debating to stay behind and sharpen his sword again or to possibly train. But he still owed Hawke and the bastard had pulled that one out on him to make sure he was coming. Very well, he thought as he strapped the sword over his shoulder. If it meant getting approved by the raven then he would attend, though he had very little interest in otherwise going.

Hightown passed at a lazy pace, the afternoon breeze of piss and dirt wriggling under his nose as he descended to the lower reaches. Lowtown was surprisingly active this night, many patrons gathering around in small booths as they tried to haggle away the last bargain of the day. He could make a distinct observation of what seemed to be lyrium dust being passed around a group of shady shemlen teenagers, their legs almost buckling once they saw Fenris heading in their direction. However he simply gave them a glare and moved on, the doors of the Hanged Man sweeping away as he made entrance. Isabela's gleeful chuckles drew his attention upstairs and the elf sighed as he dragged himself up the corridor. He really wasn't too keen on playing cards tonight.

He took note of his surroundings, the table lined in cards and coin. The usual, nothing special except the exclusion of Hawke's greetings him as he made way past to go downstairs. Fenris had taken his own tankard of swill, this time deciding to try the bourbon as he leaned against the wall in a lean, overseeing the game with little interest. Hawke had returned and had hardly batted an eye at him.

As the night wore on it was clear that Hawke's attempts to send a cold shoulder to the elf had actually backfired, the warrior seeming pleased with having little conversing to do. Fenris was content at least, occasionally making comments about the game or asking Sebastian curious questions about the chantry. One of the other patrons of the tavern had rounded the corner to watch the game; a whore no doubt judging by her corset and well pronounced breasts. The elf had turned to make conversation with her and she was more than willing to accept, her eyes admiring the fine example of masculinity before her.

Hawke's cold treatment and message to get Fenris to come to him all fell on deaf ears, the elf having discarded his position to sit with the woman in the corner. He had offered her a drink, preferring not to get too hammered this night which she gratefully accepted. "Looks like your cold shoulder is getting him lucky." Isabela said with a wink, rousing a jealous glare from the mage as the warrior allowed the whore his full attention, occasionally shifting forward to meet her eager advances.

The woman then caressed the elf's knee in a subtle squeeze that caused Fenris to give the woman a heated look, the elf leaning closer to whisper something in her ear. The Tevinter wasn't intent on making Hawke jealous. He was simply cared more of himself this night and wanted to indulge in something else other than a game of cards or cheap ale. The woman giggled and came to stand, the elf quick to follow as he walked with her out of the room without telling anyone in the party just where he was being whisked off to.

"Lucky broad. He never accepts my invitation." Isabela whined with a pout, her hands throwing down the dice to land her a 6-4. "I can't imagine the reason why." Anders had perked up since getting a few drinks in him, his facial expression betraying his good set of cards. Maker he was terrible at this. "Smart arse. Well then maybe he should find out." She threw down her hand a second time; 5-5. "What is it that makes it everyone want to sleep with him? He's not even that good looking." Anders placed a card face down but the excitement in his gaze made Isabela call his bluff, earning a painful whine from the mage as the pirate took all his money and placed it on her side of the table. "Not good looking? Have you been sleeping under a rock Anders?" The rogue let out a gentle moan as she dealt her deck out, placing a few cards face down while the others remained undealt. "That lean taut body, that dark brooding gaze. That perfect round ass..." "Hey, hey, hey. We're here to play cards, not act out your wildest fantasies." Varric had chipped in, placing his own selection upon the table with careful precision.

* * *

 

Isabela said it, his plan was a foil. Not once did Fenris attempt to approach the mage, content with the drinking his drink and partaking in occasional conversation every now and then. And Maker, that woman! What Fenris saw in her eluded Hawke, unless the elf was a fan of itches and rashes and all the fanfare that came with it. His face must have shown his discontent because Varric was grinning to himself again. The mage threw the dwarf a scowl and settled in his chair as he watched Fenris leave the room with the whore from the corner of his vision. The tankard was quickly drained only to be replaced by a full one at his signal. The drinks went down one after the other to the amusement of most people seated round the mage's table.

"Ignoring the elf would have never worked, Hawke," Varric started, his hands tossing his cards with some disgust as Isabela raked in her winnings. "Most of the time you had to guilt or annoy him into doing anything, and he hardly cares about anyone's opinion. You're waiting for nothing if you think you could get Broody's apology through sulking," another hand was dealt as Nora came round with refills.

"I'm not sulking," Hawke answered, his voice belied him however; a definite pout was on his lips as he eyed the door where Fenris and the whore had left through.

"Right, and I'm six feet tall," The retort amused Anders so much that the healer ended up choking on his ale.

"What's wrong with you and him, anyway?" the pirate wench asked as she flapped her hands against her chest, a distinct cheat of hers that no one minded for it offered them a view they enjoyed. "You haven't even talked to him yet you're already fighting? Talk about domestic." she scoffed, still a bit sour as well.

"Is it about yesterday? You were bleeding all over when Isabela and I left," Now even Anders was intrigued, the healer's voice was a tad too hopeful for Hawke's taste however.

"He still hasn't apologized for leaving me on the coast as he did," the mage finally admitted and rolled his body next to the dwarf who shrugged him off with a dirty look. Isabela was making a look, one that said she found Hawke either extremely stupid or just naive; and they both knew the latter didn't apply.

"Are you really that hung up about it? It happened, and though he didn't apologize; you two were at least talking again. What more are you hoping for?" the rogue pointed out, her hand flapping her cards at Hawke as she talked. Anders who was spying on her hand brightened and raised his bet when he glimpsed the woman's line.

"Rivaini is right Hawke. You know Broody more than we do so you should have known cold would have never worked with the elf. You were barely making any headway pushing yourself on him, what did you think was gonna happen when you pulled away? No, don't answer that," was Varric's advice as he folded.

"Right, and I'm supposed to just fall over myself every time we have a fight." The mage's tone was almost brittle as he downed the last of his tankard. He had a nice little tower going of tankards he'd drank out of and despite Nora's best efforts; the mage managed to keep it standing.

"Exactly." was all Isabela said as she announced her winnings. Anders' face was indescribable as he stared at her discarded hand. These were not the cards he saw earlier, but he should have known Isabela would cheat.

The mage left not soon after, the alcohol had gone to his head and was making him a bit light-headed. It was nothing a walk couldn't fix so he excused himself and decided to take a walk outside in the cold. It was more than cold out there; it was actually freezing. So he started walking. If Lowtown was this cold, how much colder could Darktown be?

The sound of a woman's lilting giggle drew him from his thoughts, reminding him exactly where the elf is right about now. Probably nestled between shapely bosoms, not that Hawke needed the disturbing image. He walked a bit further out, careful to not disturb anyone's fun-time in the alleys. The mage was near the docks by then; the sound of the waves splashing on the wharf was more distinct. He saw the shadows move and before he could call on the Maker, a number of men poured out of the darkness. They all had black armour on; bandits by the look of them, maybe slavers with the way one had chains and manacles in tow.

"We found a pretty one," the nearest oaf sneered, the laughs and chuckles of his companion echoing his observation.

"And I found an ugly bunch, lucky me." the mage answered in a bored drawl. He'd been looking for a distraction all night and maybe the Maker himself had taken pity on him.

"You won't be using that mouth of y-" the unfortunate soul had barely finished his monologue when he suddenly found himself toppling over, an invisible force dragging his ankles towards a centre point. Yells of varying surprise were heard as the others found themselves copying their leader. The group struggled against Hawke's spell only to find themselves pressed to the ground by an invisible weight. And even before they've recovered from the onslaught, another of the mage's spells knocked them in the air in an invisible blast.

Most of the men were knocked off the pier, others into the walls, while a lucky few managed to land against barrels and stalls. Those staggered to their feet to return the attack only to find themselves frozen by a gust of frozen wind. The mage had yet to move from his spot; his only movement; a hand that he used to cast the spells.

But the night wasn't over yet, the shadows shifting as more of these men rushed to aid their fallen comrades. The mage merely sighed, shifting where he stood to face the onslaught. Maker be damned, where are the warriors when you need them?

* * *

 

The woman's tongue washing over his skin earned a low hum of approval from the elf's mouth, his fingers now bare scouting through her hair in smooth but firm strokes. He did not expect to find himself in his current situation, but it was a welcome change from waltzing through mud of Sundermount. His hips bucked forward, guiding more of him into the woman's mouth whose seasoned throat accompanied as much as he desired, the hand running through her hair tightening.

He could barely hear the patrons of the bar or the party from Varric's suite, only the moans and cries of pleasure from the woman underneath him, his fingers pressing against her most erogenous areas slick with wet. Time seemed to fly by, the elf continuing to bury into and pleasure the whore until she was but a panting wet mess, her limbs shaking from the friction that still riddled her body. Fenris stuck the slicked fingers into his mouth and licked them clean, eyeing the shivering naked beauty before him with content. She didn't appear to have any infection or odd marks and so he paid her all the silver he carried on his person. The whore was satisfied in a multitude of ways as she only continued to lie against the bed, waving the elf goodbye with a blown kiss.

The warrior had re-dressed himself and moved back toward the centre of celebration, sliding back against the wall like a panther almost as if he had never left. His slightly disheveled appearance and sweaty skin had given his previous escapades away, the pirate giving him a wink of approval. He felt spent but his warrior's stamina allowed him to keep focused even through the most draining of demands. He picked up the stale bourbon he had left behind, the party letting out a synchronized cry of defeat as Isabela pranced up onto the table in victory. Anders pouted heavily as Varric gazed at him sympathetically, and yet there was no sign of the raven.

"Where is Hawke?" The warrior questioned toward Varric in particular, the dwarf having made his way over to fetch out what seemed to be a lute from the cupboards to celebrate Isabela's win. "Said he wanted to get fresh air but if I know Hawke then he's probably gone for a walk." The rogue responded as he gave Fenris a knowing glance of 'go fetch him'.

The wolf left the Hanged Man at an explorative pace, the strumming of lute and the clapping of hands being silenced as the doors swung shut behind him. He felt no presence of magic so he knew Hawke had gone on a stroll. It was becoming late; a dangerous hour to be alone and with Hawke's reputation the warrior didn't let it pass him that the drunken mage had got himself into trouble.  
He turned down the stairs and followed the empty streets, thugs poking their heads out of windows to eye the elf down but deemed him of too much trouble once they spotted the sword on his back. Just his appearance was enough to intimidate people, the elf sending a glare toward a man who loomed too close, the human backpedalling out of the elf's way as he searched through Lowtown for Hawke's location.

He felt nothing but the kiss of chilling wind against his skin, tanned goosebumps rising across his bare biceps. He even searched near Gamlen's house and was still met with nothing. Where was he? Gut instinct told him to go to the docks and so Fenris decided to head ther, his paranoia and worry for the mage's well-being increasing by the minute. His skin suddenly turned warm, the markings wriggling with the sensation of caterpillars as he rounded a corner and took down another flight of stairs; a sign of magic being used in the vicinity. The sounds of yells whisked him toward an open dock near the port, the bodies of what seemed to be slavers floating in the water drowned.

Another yell filled the air followed by a crash and wood breaking, Fenris following the noise until he found him. Slavers were rushing at the mage with their weapons drawn, the rest with their feet stuck to the ground in icy clumps. They lashed out at the man as the raven dodged and weaved; a fireball meeting their advances as they were once again thrown back. Angered, the warrior grasped the hilt of his sword and drew it free of its sheath; his feet carrying him like a blur across the charred wood to plant the sword through one of the slaver's stomachs.

The onslaught was now pig roasted; a fire-wielding mage at their front and a Tevinter warrior at their back. Fenris gave them no time to react as he aimed for the ones whose feet were immobile from the ice, the sword arcing out to slide through their mid-drift. The heavy armour they wore sullied the blow somewhat but the elf quickly re-angled his wrists, the blade turning back down and slicing through them a second time, this time cutting through their flesh; bones and all.  
Strings of intestine and cries of pain filled the air as the slavers were cut clean in half, the top-half of their body flinging into the water with a bloody crash.

* * *

 

It was pure chaos and he was running out of mana. The fight was a long one, mostly because there were too many of them and too little of him. He'd cast spell after spell, taking out most of the armoured ones. But the others were more of a problem. As a mage, he was weak in melee combat; and though he can fight his way through a bar brawl, he couldn't both cast and punch at the same time. So he concentrated on dodging, running for open spaces before catching his pursuers in a cone of ice. The tactic worked for a while until one of the more skilful ones decided to wait the mage out. The bastard had hidden himself in the shadows, only striking once Hawke's attention was elsewhere. The rogue got him good too; there was a long slash of red soaking his torn shirt from his right shoulder to mid-back. The blade would have gone deeper had Hawke not blasted them with his mind.

But the bandits were stubborn, resupplying their numbers every time one of them fell. They were coming out of the woodwork, sometimes appearing from above the buildings with a yell or taunt. The mage kept his back up, tearing through their numbers one at a time. He'd never noticed it before, but fighting solo can really wear a man down. And he had nothing on him save the clothes on his back and not even one measly lyrium bottle to replenish his dwindling mana.

Still more and more slavers came out of the darkness, and Hawke started to wonder how people can be so single-minded that they'd rather spend a night beating up a poor mage than drinking or having sex. It was as though Hawke's attack had broken the dam, and now the mage was fighting against the water rushing down the mountain. Finally, he faltered; stumbling on his own feet. He caught sight of a blade rushing down towards his neck and realized; this is where he'll die. Alone and beaten in some dank hideaway in the docks. Even if he lived, there was no knowing what the slavers would do to him. Perhaps sell him in Tevinter, punishing him for the lives he took most likely. The thought chilled him, his body fighting instinctively for his life. The blade, a long sword that reminded him of Fenris came crashing down on the spot where his neck was supposed to be. But the mage had rolled away, curling into himself before springing to his feet with his arms drawn up.

Only to realize that the thugs were distracted by something else from their flank. There were men screaming in the back, flashes of steel and a quick glance of silvery white hair that Hawke recognized. The mage checked his reserves and pulled at the last of his magic. A small ball of swirling energy emerged in the midst of his enemies. It was another of his force mage spells, one he rarely used unless he had a melee fighter with him and was getting overwhelmed.

It was as though the men were trapped in a bog, slow and limpid the nearer they were to the centre. It allowed the elf to pick the rest off one by one, their bodies suspended in mid-air even as they died. And when Hawke's magic finally ran out, they all dropped to the ground, dead as dead can be.

The mage leaned against a wall, panting as he assessed the damages he took. Cuts littered his arms from where his evasion hadn't been successful; bruises on his chest from the mace he took head on, and the gash down his back that smarted every time he breathed. A pretty good outcome, at least he hadn't broken a bone this time.

"Took you long enough, I was starting to think you'd miss the party." Hawke finally said, his tone turning the massacre into a joke. Fenris was standing just in front of him, wondering probably how the mage could be as stupid as he'd been. A cough knocked out a loose tooth and into his palm, the mage frowning as he momentarily mourned the molar. Good thing it wasn't one of his front teeth though, imagine how the ladies would react had his smile been marred.

When he finally gained enough of his breath back, he straightened from his slouch; wincing as his wound stretched and bled. Without asking for permission, he steadied himself on the elf's shoulder, the world tilting dangerously as he detached himself from the wall.

"Maker, that hurts," the mage whined then chuckled despite himself. He threw an amused glance at the not so amused wolf, smiling slightly when their eyes met. "I'm never ignoring you again. I get into trouble when I do."

* * *

 

A whirl of air screeched through his ears, the vortex of magic stirring the currents into a vicious circle. It was like the world had crumbled into the fade, the winds distorting into an audible hum as the slavers were tossed into the air, their bodies frozen in time. Fenris however was unaffected, the warrior able to move through the maze of bandits with ease. Their arms and legs kicked helplessly as he chopped them like liver, heads sprawling like comets as they were severed from their bodies.

Even the blood float like lilies atop a pond, the path of corpses condemning those that remained locked in the magic to scream out their last pleas for mercy. With one final slash the last cry was silenced, the bodies and severed parts dropping to the wooden docks in a sickening crunch. Fenris remained guarded, his eyes swooping the area for any more hostiles. Hawke's coughs brought him out of his thirst for blood and so he pulled the sword back into its sheath. The mage was covered in blood, his vest torn where a large gash had splintered down his back. His arms, head and chest were littered in cuts and bruises, too many to count and it caused the elf to frown in disbelief.

Hawke was foolish and could have got himself killed. He almost had, judging from the blood seeping onto the ground beneath his feet. Immediately, the elf stepped forward as the mage leaned toward him, hoisting the man's arm around his neck and securing him from falling to his knees. Fenris positioned himself carefully as to not open up even more cuts on the wounded man's body, an arm winding around Hawke's waist to grab onto his hip firmly, pulling the taller man against him. "You are a fool to think you could walk out here alone and not be slain." He was relieved to know he had got there just in time but if he had been but a moment later...

The warrior swallowed down the thought and moved his other arm, his gauntlets narrowly missing the mage's skin as it was wrapped around the mage's wrist, holding the man's arm around the back of his shoulders in place. The elf had turned his own shoulder enough so the spiky pauldron's missed his armpit, choosing to rest him against his chest more than his flank. The two of them moved steadily, the warrior's strength evident as he pulled Hawke along with his strides, the elf's teeth lightly grit as not only did he have to haul a sword as big as he was but also a human bigger than him in every sense.

"If you died...I..." Personal, too personal. The elf shut his mouth before he would blab anymore. "Don't do that again." He snapped in retaliation, eyes focused on the road ahead as he refused to make contact with the man next of him. Fenris being shorter it had worked wonders, the leverage he created under the wounded mage a feeling akin to being pulled almost by a beast. It was the closest the two had physically been, his unkempt hair unusually soft as it pressed against the mage's chin.

The duo pulled into the Hanged Man and earned a few curious and surprised brows, the party having moved downstairs as they had gathered to mock a poet who was reciting the worst poetry they had heard. "Isabela, my dusky god-" The man was shut off as the pirate pulled away from the man, a few gasps being heard recollecting around the tavern as Fenris gently lowered Hawke into a chair. "He ran into an ambush." It was enough to be said to make it known that the damage this time wasn't his fault, his form staying close to Hawke's as he cradled the top of his shoulder, intending to catch the mage if he fell unconscious.

Anders was quick to react as he circled around the wounded mage, ale still in hand as he assessed the damage. "Maker Hawke, I can see your ribs." He pushed the drink into Merril's chest as she stood there dumbfounded, the apostate's hands quickly loosening a bandage from out of the pockets of his coat. "He needs to come to my clinic." And with that the mage had scooted around to take himself under Hawke's wing. Fenris had no time to complain about the abomination's methods and he too lowered himself until he draped Hawke's arm once more around his shoulders, the two men pulling the mage to his feet.

Two were better than one at this game as the opposing parties carried Hawke toward Darktown, their pace quick as they headed for one of the elevator shafts. If irony had a name then this would be it; the warrior working with the abomination all in the name of saving Hawke's life. It was a sight that left many of the party to stare in silence.

* * *

 

Anders was overreacting, even Fenris was too much. Everyone was taking him too seriously. He wasn't that bad off, was he? He can still feel his legs after all, his arms were working just fine. It's just that he couldn't see things very well, faces were swimming in a red haze, and their voices overlapping that Hawke could not understand a thing they were saying. He was fine just a while ago, so why did he suddenly feel so bad now? He thought he asked the question out loud but no-one had answered him, and it made him feel even worse.

Suddenly, the world was rushing past him as he floated along with it. He could hear voices near his ears, recognized one of them as Anders, the other as Fenris. It sounded as though they were actually civil, Hawke wasn't pleased.

"If- If all it took was to nearly die just to get you two to play nice, I could have spared those men the trouble and j-just stab myself with a fork or s-some...thing." He could hear himself speaking, but the words made little sense to him. From the silence that followed, he could only hope that the two had at least understood what he said. And Maker, why is it so cold? He was lying on his side now, on something that smelled of elfroot and blood. He was no longer floating and Anders' voice sounded far-off as though the mage had moved away.

"D-Damn it, Anders! G-get a f-f-fire up." he muttered, his voice coming in stutters now. It was absolutely freezing, as if his bones were turning to ice, innards frosting over even as he spoke.

"He's poisoned," Anders said in a panic. The two had made the journey as quick as they possibly could with Hawke stuttering jokes between them. The fool hadn't stopped chattering since they left the tavern, though he had the attention span of a cat, his topics changing with every step. Most of his words hadn't even made much sense, which only spurred the healer faster. Thankfully, the elf must have realized the gravity of the situation because he had matched his pace to the blonde's.

As soon as they got to the clinic, they've laid Hawke down on one of the cots. The wounded mage had turned on his side automatically and curled in on himself, his teeth chattering as he muttered complaints beneath his breath. The mage was pale under candle-light, his wounds gaining a sickly blue colour, the veins turning black. The sight only made Anders work quicker as he pored through the antidotes he had on hand.

"It couldn't be magebane, much too fast for that. Crow Venom? No, he's not attacking anyone..." the healer muttered to himself faster, his hands pulling bottle after bottle out of a small box on his desk. His patient had grown quiet so he chanced glancing back at Hawke. The other mage, usually outgoing and boisterous had his eyes closed. He was breathing shallow breaths, his hands clenched around the wooden frame of the cot. Sweat beaded his forehead, and though his body was racked with pain, the mage quietly bore through it.

"Aha! Fell poison fits the symptoms but it doesn't explain the chills. Black veins... black veins... I know I saw that one before," Most of the small bottles were rolling about on the table, discarded after being eliminated. There were a few dusty ones left in the chest, the healer's eyes quickly latching on the smallest one he had. "I know I've seen this before, quiet death... that's a really old one," though very potent. He'd seen a few victims of it during his travels with the Grey Warden and had since then kept an antidote for it.

He quickly dumped both antidotes in Hawke's mouth, though it was inadvisable to do so without knowing the side effects of each. But there was no time, Hawke had two poisons in his system, one of foreign make; both fast-acting enough to kill the mage. Had he taken the time to sit down and research, he'd have no-one to treat by the time he was done.

"That should clear his system, though he probably won't be well enough even by the morning," said the healer, his words meant mostly for the other man in the room. Fenris had stayed, keeping vigil besides the other mage. "If you can help me take his shirt off, I'll take a look at his wounds."

* * *

 

Even with the kiss of death against his neck the mage still retorted with humorous jokes, the elf glaring into the side of Hawke's paling face. The pit forming in his stomach was deepening and he found himself hauling the mage's body even faster, forcing Anders into a near jog. "Shut your mouth Hawke and conserve your energy." The fool still managed to find humour in the whole scenario and it made the hope in Fenris' heart waver; only Hawke would be stupid enough to give out jokes on his deathbed.

The mage's feet dragged through the dirt as the two lowered him into a cot, his body curling up into a shivering ball. "He's getting worse." The wolf growled underneath his breath as he snapped off his gauntlets and disarmed himself so that he could move freely without restriction. The gauntlets and sword were tossed against the ground, his free hands quickly unbuttoning the mage's shirt at Ander's behest. Hawke continued to shiver and jerk, making it all the more harder to remove the vest when the man refused to unwrap his arms from around himself like a stubborn child. He didn't have time to pry the blood-soaked cloth away and so the warrior simply gripped onto the material and shredded it, throwing it to the ground with the rest of his materials.

He placed a lyrium lined hand against the mage's forehead to check his temperature, the veins of magic seething and wriggling in protest. He had a fever and soon Fenris found himself gathering together the torn pieces of Hawke's vest that weren't dirty, or caked in blood or the remnants of the poison. He stalked over to a bucket of water and dunked the material in, the rag soaking in the cool waters only to be rung out tightly. Fenris then stalked back over and placed the cool rag against Hawke's brow, gently wiping away the beads of perspiration.

Fenris held the mage's head down as Anders began to pry at the sore lacerations on Hawke's back, Hawke's facial expressions tightening in agony. The elf didn't know what to do other than to use his muscle to hold the man in place, his body beginning to kick and convulse under the effects of the poison. He was usually the one inflicting pain and causing death, not one to remedy it or bring someone back from the brink. "How long will it last, mage? The poison." He knew only a little about such concoctions, his dealings only having educated him in common toxins you could find in any underground market. The way Anders had identified it made it seem rare or uncommon to use and the more ambiguous the situation was the less he liked it.

But he remained vigilant and had stopped Hawke from turning to bite at his very own fingers as the poisons after effects rattled his battered body. For hours the elf strained, holding the mage down as his violent convulsions and shivers quirked at random, his body unfaltering as he determined to keep the mage in place. Eventually they had tied Hawke down to stop him from hurting himself in his chills, the wolf retiring to a chair as he sat faithfully at Hawke's side. Anders had tried to shoo the elf out but after making it clear he intended to go nowhere the apostate let up. Anders had set a rule in place; he could stay and watch over Hawke as long as he didn't do anything to the mage without the healers consent, didn't interrupt or interfere with him or any of the other patients and didn't touch anything in the clinic.

Fenris had not planned on touching anything or make a habit out of harassing his patients and so he agreed, making a rule of his own that the healer would stay out of his way unless it was absolutely necessary. The two had met eye to eye and both had fallen into their own routines as the night swept by. Fenris had kept watch over Hawke the entire night, sometimes occasionally tightening the strands of the binds or to clean Hawke's face down. His eyes drifted lower, admiring the line of dark hair running down through his pectorals and toward his stomach. The back of the mage though now wrapped in bandages was also nicely shaped, the muscles there well-kept and refined enough to give the impression of how fit he was beneath those vests he wore.

Fenris had expected Hawke to have known better than to simply throw himself to the vultures. No doubt his body was going to be marred in yet another scar, the mage's skin once toned now riddled in cuts, faded scar tissue and bruises. He didn't know when and how he fell asleep, but the moment he woke up he had found the rays of sunlight seep directly into his eyes. His body had slumped forward in the chair until his elbows and arms had rested upon the cot to form a lap for his head to cradle in, a cradle that happened to lean into the raven's chest.

* * *

 

Dreams were dangerous; Hawke had learned from childhood just how much danger he was in simply because he was a mage. When he first encountered a demon, the young mage, no older than twelve; had almost believed he was a blood mage now. He'd woken from his sleep and refused to sleep for days after. His father had assured him that he was no blood mage, and that he had been strong enough to resist the damned thing. Still, the young boy would have no dealings with his bed until his father was forced to slip him a potion. He slept then, and he met the demon once again; but this time he was able to ban it from his dreams. Since then, Hawke had worked on his magic, his father telling him that the stronger the mage is, the less recipient he'll be to demonic possession.

Bethany, as she grew older; idolized her strong oldest brother. She'd never seen Hawke tempted by demons, the older mage merely laughing at their faces before destroying them with his magic. Hunger, desire, pride, rage, sloth... none had stood a chance. But Hawke had once said to her that the reason why he was strong was because he was scared.

So he grew stronger, more powerful than his father was. But power did not come easy, for as the mage grew; the number of demons after him also grew. Their songs were that much sweeter, their temptations that much stronger. But this time, there was another fear preventing Hawke from accepting their offers. And that's because he was scared of turning against his family and friends. He was strong, yes, which also meant he'd be just as strong, even stronger as an abomination.

But some nights, when he's at his lowest, his magic drained and his body tired; the whispers grew louder. Dreams often turn to nightmares, images of the dead haunting his footsteps. Often those dreams would wake him in a panic; a nervous anxiety that jittered at his nerves hours after he'd woke from the bed in cold sweat.

Such was the way he'd roused himself this morning. He'd been running with Carver at his side before the boy was caught by the demon after them. Carver had pleaded for salvation, his face taking on the Taint from Hawke's last memory of him. But to save him was to take the demon into himself, so the mage continued running, until he'd simply fallen through space.

He woke with a small jerk then, to unfamiliar ceilings and patchwork walls. He saw no-one he recognized as he turned his head from side to side. And when he tried to sit up, his bindings held him down, my how the mage panicked then. He strained at the bonds, feeling the cloth cut into his wrist further. Whoever his captor was; they've done a good job with the knots, not even Hawke's full strength could tear him free. He gave up after a while, panting as he tried to look for another way out. There was a cot to his one side, occupied by a sleeping man. More cots on the other, and, oh...

White hair and tanned skin. Spikes peeking out from under the familiar head, Fenris was fast asleep by the mage's side. He looked as if he was waking, eyes blinking back the sleep out of green. And then the elf yawned, a full cat yawn that had the Hawke staring at him oddly.

"You're awake?" a voice suddenly asked, and suddenly Anders was standing over him with his armful of pungent herbs. The healer had a soft smile on, though Hawke could see he hasn't slept well.

"I figured I'd give in and reward you with my presence," he answered jokingly and tried to free himself once more. Looking pointedly at Fenris, the shaking of the bindings drew both men's attention to where the mage was shackled. "Unless either of you are planning on having weird kinky sex with me any time soon, I'd like to be untied, please," earned him a chuckle from Anders and another stare from the elf.

"What happened to me anyway? And why am I a prisoner in your clinic, Anders? I thought better of you. A healer should know better than to treat their patients like this. You should be ashamed of yourself, mage," Anders was outright chortling as Hawke finished, the laid-up mage had adopted Fenris' tone; dropping enough haughty distaste on the word to the healer's amusement.

"Well, I guess your head's still fine then," the healer answered. "How about your body? Anything odd about it?"

"Aside from my missing shirt? And the various kiss marks all over my body? No, I don't really feel any different." The mage's humour seemed back on full force as he glanced between Anders and Fenris with suspicion. His tone was lazy, but the laughter was laced into his words as he continued, "So own up, which one of you molested me in my sleep? I can still feel my ass which means either you- _"_

"Oh shut up Hawke and get out of my clinic. I need the cot for another patient," Anders had half-heartedly snapped and waltzed back to the small office he had in the back. Which meant that the half-naked mage had turned his attention back to the elf.

"Want to grab breakfast at Varric's? I'm too weak to make it up all those stairs. I feel like I'll faint if someone doesn't hold my hand all the time." he asked the fairly unimpressed elf.

"And besides, you still need to teach me how to fight."

* * *

 

The elf had jerked away suddenly after his yawn, Hawke's movements surprising him enough to force himself to sit straight lest he wanted to give the wrong impression. He was alive, the antidote being an obvious success. The realization in knowing Hawke was going to live to die another day brightened the elf's features. "You really don't remember?" The elf questioned after a pausing in astonishment. Had he completely forgotten about walking out on them and off into the night with complete disregard to his own safety?

"You were ambushed, Hawke. By slavers no less. They poisoned you..." The elf's concern quickly washed away as Hawke returned to his innuendos, the elf's shoulders slumping in an unimpressed manner albeit the tickle of a smirk gave way his amusement. How the mage faced adversary such as pain, demons and death with a grin on his face made him almost seem like a madman. But like Keeper Marethari once told; there was a light within his heart. And right now it was shining like a beacon, a beacon that both made the elf want to smother it and embrace it all the same.

He turned away from the conversing mages to gather his belongings, the gauntlets being smacked against his thigh to knock out any dust, rocks or dirt that may have been kicked into them. He strung the sword to his back with a clip of a belt and turned around to release the mage from his binds, his gauntlets easily shredding the material until the bonds were broken.

"I'll join you but only if you get dressed first." The elf had sniped as he pulled the mage to his feet, his arm wrapping around the mage's waist to cradle his palm against his hip, the calloused skin unusually pleasant as it nested against Hawke's flesh. He waited for Hawke to grab onto him, the jester more than happy to wrap his arm around the elf's back as they headed into Darktown at a leisured pace. He guided the man along with ease, the wolf's mouth inevitably falling open in yet another yawn. He had hardly slept last night.

They got strange glances as they headed to the elevator, meeting even more inquisitive eyes as they rose into Lowtown. The markets were out in full bloom, the masses having returned from praying at the chantry. Fish seemed to be the main item on the menu as they passed what seemed to be an entire street dedicated to seafood, the elf's face greening under the stench.

"Plaugh. Why you would want breakfast in the Hanged Man is beyond me. The alcohol is worse enough without the company of dried fish and stale bread." The duo parted from the Lowtown districts and headed toward the higher tiers of steps, the elf determined to drag the mage along each step of the way if he had to. However having a shirtless Hawke still wrapped in bandages being dragged through Hightown had caused almost everyone in the vicinity to turn to them, whispers and rumours quickly spreading as they pushed their way through the square. Fenris couldn't have cared less what they thought of him and if he knew the mage then Hawke wouldn't have cared either. The fingers on the human's hips tested the skin subtly as they walked, the elf marvelling just how smooth it felt. He didn't have time to admire him much last night with the thrashing and all but here and now he could appreciate the tone. Must have been an effect of that peach-scented oil he had brought over before.

Soon enough the Hawke estate came into view and the elf had moved Hawke off his shoulder to open the door, his hand slipping from his waist with caution unless Hawke suddenly lost his balance. The interior of the manor looked much more inviting this time round, Fenris taking note of the mild repairs and renovations the mage had put in place to return the manor back to its former pride. He guided Hawke to the stairs, moving behind him as they ascended to the second floor. The position had landed Fenris at direct eye level with Hawke's back side, the elf unable to help himself but survey the goods briefly. Just what was he doing? First he spent the night with a whore that almost got Hawke killed because the elf's attention was drawn elsewhere, then he rescued Hawke and dragged him to the abomination's clinic to get healed all the while giving into surveying his chest and now here he was looking at his rear end like a horse who thirsted for water.

He shook his head, turning his attention to the mabari that had suddenly appeared next of him out of nowhere. Siruis barked happily as Fenris gave him a brief pat, Hawke setting the dog to guard the estate when he was away doing important missions...or drinking nights. Fenris didn't want to intrude any further on the mage's privacy after he brought him to his bedroom and turned around to face off the balcony, his eyes studying the large chandelier that hung from the ceiling. Filters of dust gently showered down from the ceiling through the streaks of warm sunlight, a butterfly flying in from one of the broken windows to come land near the fireplace. There he saw something rest against the mantle, an inconspicuous object as layered in a thick coat of dust.

He walked down the staircase to approach the dormant fireplace, his fingers reaching out to grab said object and pull it from its dusty grave, films of spiderweb and felt rolling down its surface. The warrior brushed the object down in careful strokes, washing the grey film away to reveal what seemed to be a small insignia. The emblem of the Hawke family stared back at him, the two large red birds raised to their breasts in a proud and noble status. It was like the large crest Hawke had found in the cellar of his family's keep except this one was about the size of the elf's fist.

"Look at this Hawke. I think I found another crest belonging to your family." The elf called out into the mansion as he continued to gently clean the insignia with the pad of his gloves.

* * *

 

He was glad he'd asked for help walking, however jokingly he said it. His legs felt stiff, his every step piercing his leg with a hundred knives. Hawke had to actually concentrate on moving his feet, left, right, left, right; over and over again just to make sure he was using them. The spectators hardly mattered when you had to order your own limbs to do their job. He whined however when Fenris insisted that the mage be clothed for breakfast. The Hanged Man was right there! Just a few painful paces away. But no, he was half-dragged, half carried up the dastardly steps. And that one really did hurt, he couldn't understand how a slum like Darktown can have elevators while Lowtown and Hightown had stairs instead. It was illogical.

By the time they got to the Amell estate, Hawke had sworn off walking forever. The task was such a pain, and only Fenris' sharp glare made him think before verbally complaining. One last set of stairs and he finally reached his room. The mage would have collapsed on his bed gladly had his stomach allowed it, alcohol was no alternative for solid food after all. With the elf's back turned towards him, Hawke stripped his pants off. The fabric was stuck to his skin in some pretty painful places, and he took great care to avoid ripping anything out. A cold bucket of water stood to the side, his washcloth hanging off a nearby chair. He reached for these and hurriedly cleaned himself the best he could while he tottered on shaky legs. Finally, after cleaning most of the gore off; Hawke slipped into another shirt and pants just in time to hear Fenris calling him over.

"It's one of those personal crests, the ones knights strap to their armour... something like Andraste's face over Sebastian's crotch," the statement made him pause as he shook his head at his own words. "That didn't come out right, but this one's either clipped to your waist or your wrist, sometimes around one's arm. It's an impractical trinket, one that your enemy would collect to show his kills," the mage explained and carefully deposited himself in a chair. He gave a wincing grin when he met the elf's stare.

"Seems like I'm not that healthy yet. Should have never walked into that... ambush ,you said? Sorry, the details are still a bit hazy but I'll most likely remember everything by the time the antidote wears off," he muttered, more to himself than to Fenris. Then Siruis was there, cold dog nose pressing into the mage's hand as the dog lifted a basket in his mouth. It was a familiar wicket weave, with familiar smells oozing out from the cloth cover. Hot custard buns and grape jelly rolls, Hawke's favourite. A bottle of milk was also jutting out of the rim, sealed tightly by sheepskin tied with string.

A frown marred the mage's brow as he reached for the feast, the dog huffing slightly in disapproval when the mage forgot to pat him for a job well done.

"It's from Mother," he said and took a piece of parchment pinned to the cover. "And a letter from the Grey Wardens..." This time, his voice was almost a hush as he palmed the letter in his hand. The familiar seal was broken; the red wax imprint of two gryphons perched on a branch was peeled off the paper underneath. With almost shaky hands, Hawke took out the piece of paper from within. It was a letter, about Carver's joining ritual. The words made little sense after he got past the general result, an almost teary smile blooming over the mage's face. He met the elf's green gaze with his own and laughed.

"My little brother's a Grey Warden now."

* * *

 

He buffed off the odd armament while Hawke explained its purpose; a trophy no less. It was a symbol to wear on oneself proudly to show where their loyalty lay. If enemies targeted such things to loot then it made sense that the emblem was left abandoned here. Without being retained to a target it had little story value but the concept of knighthood was rather endearing. He smoothed his fingers out over its surface before walking over and placing it over the fireplace, the emblem standing proud and freshened once more.

"Yes, an ambush. One that you haphazardly walked into because you decided it was a good idea to visit the docks alone last night." Hawke was an organised man who faced his mistakes with a smile, but the mistake he had made last night had cost some of the elf's respect. He couldn't fathom why he would want to get himself killed like that. Ever since Carver being gone, the mage had become more anti-social and depressed. His drinking habits had worsened as well and it wasn't uncommon to find the mage slurring his words or raising his tone of voice more often than not.

He let out a sigh, realizing he was getting aggravated over nothing and that Hawke would simply spin his words anyway, crack another sarcastic joke to avoid reasoning. The mabari returned from the depths of the manor with basket in mouth, the sweet smell of grapes and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on flittering out from under the lid. Though too his stomach was empty, he didn't plan on making a move on the rolls until he had Hawke's approval. Curiously, he moved forward a little to see the letter, unable to make out anything but the griffon heraldry.

The look on Hawke's face was bedazzled by emotion, his eyes becoming wet as his cheeks lift into a smile. It wasn't one of those forced smiles the mage made to make people feel uncomfortable nor was it one that he flashed when he got a perverted idea or decided to go ahead with a plan. It was one of those rare genuine smiles that caused the entirety of Hawke's face to illuminate in happiness; the same smile that had sparked Fenris' curiosity in his dream.

Fenris didn't know what to say but Hawke's happiness made him feel reprieve. It was the most delighted he had seen him since he arrived back from the Deep Roads expedition, a promise that perhaps his depression and bad habits were finally over. "Did you...have any doubts?" It was an assumption the elf had presumed would exist. After all, during the time he spent in Carver and Hawke's company, it was obvious there was a sibling rivalry. More often than not, the younger brother had depended on the older for support. Even though Hawke's words had been clouded in alcohol, Fenris knew that the man had doubts, or some form of denial, or guilt. Or perhaps all applied. Carver never seemed the type to be able to hold his own ground since Hawke overshadowed him in almost everything. Was it really that bad to question his independence?

"No, I shouldn't have said that. He is your brother, I...simply gathered that you thought he was dead by how you have been acting these past few weeks." Fenris didn't normally address the mage's personal problems but it was a problem that affected the entire company. "You normally don't show this lack of restraint. It surprised me to know he still lives..."

* * *

 

"No... you're right," the mage answered. Fenris' question had surprised him, the elf showing his rather unique trait of seeing through Hawke's pretensions. "A lot of people doubted Carver's survival, but I was the one who needed convincing most," he finally admitted. The letter was put away carefully as Hawke offered the basket for the elf. He had a bun in his hand himself, though he had done nothing but stare at its golden exterior.

"Last night... last night was a mistake. A huge one that nearly cost me my life had you not arrived. I was thinking... losing Carver had been a big deal, and then there was you abandoning me at the beach," realizing how his words may have sounded, the mage quickly continued. "But you're not at fault here, so don't dare apologize, it wasn't my right to ask push you for answers. There are some things that you can't just admit, right? Like my thoughts about Carver's chances, I can relate to that. And there was also Mother... she blames me for Carver and I blame myself too. At first I had the house to distract me, then there was your fight with Anders; anything that kept me busy was welcome." An almost grievous sigh escaped the mage's lips as he bit off a piece of the bun, now cooled because he kept playing with it as he talked. "If I wasn't busy, I was drunk. The slavers were merely a distraction then, just something that took my mind off my losses,"

"But that's behind me now. I'm glad that Carver got a chance, no matter how short-lived it may be. And I'm happy that we can talk normally again, though that was mostly my fault... sorry." the apology was almost grudging, the mage obviously ashamed with his childish antics. But he brightened and uncapped the milk bottle before downing a gulp. "And looks like Mother's forgiven me somewhat, she rarely makes custard buns anymore."

Hawke covered his sudden embarrassment with a smile, almost pushing the basket into the elf's chest. He wasn't usually as candid, even with his family. They were all familiar with his joking self, and often the mage's serious side was treated like a joke. The dwarf though could see right through the mage's facade and understood the need for one. Fenris though; every time Hawke covered something up; the mage would see a frown marring his features. So he'd been upfront, at least for this. Though he probably shouldn't have considering how whiny he sounded.


End file.
